


Tell Me

by umbrellasandskulls



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28222836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrellasandskulls/pseuds/umbrellasandskulls
Summary: Based on the 2019-2020 pre-season. Leo is less than excited about the new star signing. Griezmann plays a dangerous game. Luis has his limits, including but not limited to French cuisine. And then they were roommates...
Relationships: Antoine Griezmann/Lionel Messi
Comments: 45
Kudos: 51





	1. Raw

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic over a year ago, because the idea wouldn't leave me alone and there was a lack of Messi/Griezmann fics out there. I gave up on it, but the plot bunny didn't hop far, I still didn't have a lot of Messi/Griezmann fics to read, so I finished writing this one. Enjoy!  
> I also took some liberties regarding the 2019-2020 pre-season. Just roll with it, yeah?

'Hi! Nice to meet you.'

Leo looks at the blond Frenchman, at his extended hand and toothy smile, and doesn't bother to point out that they have, in fact, met before. Just not while wearing the same jersey. Still, he shakes his hand lightly, grunting a greeting in return, and pushes past him towards his locker.

He'd seen that expression before. The too-bright smile that didn't reach the eyes and failed to mask the anxiety, the awkwardly pitched voice, friendly bordering on psychotic, the twitching hands and sweaty palms. The nervous thrumming of the heart, the uneasiness of ridiculous transfer fees and equally ridiculous expectations. The faint but unshakeable pride at having made it here, to Barcelona, sharing a locker room with none other than Lionel Messi.

He'd seen it with Coutinho last year and he saw it in Griezmann's face now. It hadn't been quite the same with Neymar, no. There had been nothing but joy and adoration in his eyes. There was trepidation, too, anxiety, pressure, but his smiles had never been forced. He had fearlessly thwarted any potential awkwardness with unabashed excitement. It had been refreshing and intoxicating. Hero-worship, Geri had teased him. _How does it feel to have such a loyal subject, King Leo?_ But Geri didn't understand, not really. It was love. Love for the game, pure and simple.

Well, maybe not so pure.

The new addition to their star-studded squad was not Neymar, though. Leo hoped and prayed (never begged, never that), but to no avail. The transfer drama had dragged on all through summer and came to an abrupt end with the signing of Atleti's crown jewel. That had been a transfer drama in its own right, documented and broadcast, a public spectacle that made Leo sick, but his personal opinion on the matter carried much less weight with the board than people thought.

* * *

'Look, we know he's not Neymar,’ Bartomeu says, swallowing thickly around the name as if it were a piece of stale bread, ‘but frankly, there is simply no way we can make it work. Paris won't budge, his father won't either, and with the lawsuit...'

'We're not even sure he is what we need right now,' Abidal interjects. Bartomeu purses his lips. He doesn't like that his carefully crafted speech was interrupted so abruptly and with such a bold statement. True enough, he sees Leo's eyes narrow, a subtle twitch in his jaw as he clenches his fingers around the armrests.

'What we _need_...' Leo's voice is low, but he might as well be shouting. His dark eyes are fixed on a stack of papers on Bartomeu's desk, unmoving. Abidal carelessly crosses his legs and refrains from rolling his eyes.

Leo turns to him sharply, as if reading his mind.

'What _we_ need is to win. What _you_ need is to sign someone who can help us win, not someone who will make you look good.'

Bartomeu coughs. 'Now wait a minute...'

'And what _you_ need,' Leo goes on, turning to face the President, 'is to keep lining your pockets because there is no way in hell you'll be sitting in that chair next year.'

Now Abidal does snort, with the nonchalance of someone who has shared a locker room with Leo before he became Messi and thinks he can afford the familiarity.

'It's done, Leo. You're just going to have to accept it. It's a fresh start, he's good, he actually wants to be here... And Mister likes him.'

It’s Leo's turn to snort at that.

'He admires you a lot,' Bartomeu adds smoothly, getting over Leo's barbed comment with the ease of a seasoned politician. 'We will have time to work out the details this pre-season, but he is willing to try his best to fit in with the squad and adapt to Barça's style. We just want everyone to be on the same page here... captain.'

Leo could hear everything the President wasn't saying with that one little word. It was his responsibility to integrate Griezmann into the squad, both on the pitch and off it. It was his duty to set aside personal preference and think about what was best for the club (as if the two were not so intimately connected). And, of course, it was his fault he hadn't scored on Anfield, his fault he couldn't motivate the team in the Copa final, his fault for not carrying them to victory, yet demanding the squad be built around him.

He never made such demands, of course. He wanted to win. He needed players around him who understood him on the pitch and who could carry out their own tasks. Unfortunately, many of them could do one but not the other. He had seen countless players who were objectively talented but failed to excel at Barcelona. There was no great mystery there, as far as Leo was concerned. Barça had to be in your DNA. You had to be able to link up perfectly with everyone on the pitch if you wanted to succeed. Barcelona was designed to be a _team_ in the most fundamental sense of the word. There was little room for personal ego.

And the thing was, Barcelona _could_ play without him. They had proven it, thwarting Real 5-1 at the Camp Nou last season. But that game had been a fluke and everyone knew it. The players had been extra motivated, it was a Clasico, it was on home turf, and his teammates had done it for him. For themselves, for their club, yes, but also for him. When he was on the pitch, every ball had to pass through him. He had inherited Iniesta's role together with his armband. During his career, he had moulded himself into more and more tactical positions, and now he filled the spaces left by his former legendary teammates. You could argue it was Guardiola who broke Barcelona like a martial artist breaking bones, only to put it back together stronger, more tightly knit, with Leo shining at its core. But Pep was gone, leaving behind a legacy that hung like a noose around Leo's neck, tightening under the weight of that sextuple.

'Is that all?' Leo says, looking blankly at Bartomeu.

'Yes, thank you for coming, Leo.'

Wordlessly, Leo gets up from his chair, never sparing a look for Abidal, and closes the door behind him.

* * *

Luis manned the stove as Leo quietly sipped his maté. The kitchen was white and airy and smelled delicious. Leo's mouth was watering as two fine cuts of beef sizzled over the fire.

'You just hate him because he's not Brazilian,' Luis turns to Leo with a mischievous grin.

'Don't burn the meat,' Leo deadpans.

'Fuck you, I know how to cook a steak. You're the weirdo who likes to eat raw meat,' Luis replies, already turning Leo's steak and searing it on the other side.

'I would, actually,' Leo says and his stomach grumbles in agreement.

'You're like a vampire or something...'

'Or something', Leo echoes with a twist of his lips, then nods at the steak.

'Werewolf?' Luis pulls Leo's steak off the heat and turns his, eyeing the bloody hunk of meat wearily. 'Savage,' he concludes, putting the offending plate in front of his guest.

'You didn't have to cook, you know,' Leo offers, waiting patiently for Luis to finish his steak and take a seat. He was not, in fact, a savage and his Nana would kill him if he started to eat before his host.

'Oh, I like to cook. I just wish you'd let me actually do it.'

'I love how we've been having the same argument for... five years now?' Leo smiles easily as Luis finally sits down at the table with his own perfectly cooked medium-rare steak.

'I keep hoping that one day I'll convince you to eat like a normal human being,' Luis grins, motioning to Leo to start digging in.

Leo's smile falters almost imperceptibly, but he takes his knife and fork and starts cutting up the steak into even bite-sized pieces.

'I don't hate him,' he says quietly. 'Griezmann,' he adds to Luis' confused frown.

'I'm not the press, Leo,' Luis teases him. 'The World Cup? All that shit he said last year about not wanting to be your lieutenant? You're honestly telling me you have no problem with that?'

'I didn't say I had no problem with it,' Leo chews carefully. 'He's a pompous little shit with ridiculous hair. He's half-decent when he's got a number nine in front of him, but he won't be able to play like that here. He won't fit in.'

'And he's not Brazilian.'

'Will everyone just stop talking about Ney!' Leo drops his knife loudly on his plate and raises his head to scowl at Luis.

'I didn't say his name,' Luis smiles, unperturbed by Leo's theatrics. 'I'm just saying... you have a type.'

'Fuck off,' Leo grunts, going back to his steak.

'No, really. You didn't make this much of a fuss about Phil last year, and he didn't do so well either. But you _like_ Phil. And you _like_ Rafinha, even if he's not much help... You even like Malcom. You _definitely_ liked Dani. And Dinho...'

'Arthur,' Leo says simply. Luis rolls his eyes.

'Arthur can't pass a through ball to save his life, but he's not bad. He's just not as good as Don Andrés.'

'Who is Spanish, incidentally.'

'Ney is a lot like Dihno, isn't he,' Luis goes on, like a dog with a bone. 'He was young and wide-eyed and you took him under your wing, like Dinho did with you. They're both talented and happy-go-lucky and like to party too hard. They're like book-ends to the best part of your career, aren't they?'

'When was the last time you opened a book?' Leo raises an eyebrow, but Luis knows him too well to take offence at his weak deflection.

'But hey, you're still here, your last season was fucking fantastic and we're going to do great, you hear?'

Leo doesn't bother to reply. He knows Luis is saying those things to encourage himself more than Leo. And Leo knows he should believe it, that despite the fucking horrible end, it _had_ been a good season, that despite "only" winning the League, it was the _fucking_ League and it was something to be proud of... He simply couldn't muster the optimism to look at the new season with hope, rather than dread. He could fake it, probably, for the press, for the speeches, but he couldn't quite make himself believe it. He believed in himself, he knew what he was capable of, he was certain the team could pull it off, in theory, but there were too many variables, too many things that had been going wrong for too long now... If only he had Ney's blind faith...

'Hey,' Luis gently kicks his shin under the table. He’s smiling gently, the apology clear in his dark eyes. Without meaning to, he'd done exactly what everyone else always did, putting all the pressure of winning on Leo's small shoulders. He couldn't help it, though. With him on the pitch, Luis felt _invincible_.

'He's not having maté with us,' Leo says finally, meeting Luis' gaze. 'I don't care that he's an "adopted" Uruguayan or whatever.'

'Blood traitor,' Luis laughs and Leo's eyes crinkle in amusement.


	2. Bubbly

It is Geri's barking laugh that fills Barcelona's locker room after the first training session. Geri often sat to Leo's right, at least in training, while Luis was a permanent fixture on his left, arm slung across his shoulders. It was comforting, different from the Cesc/Geri duo at La Masia and different still from the Dinho/Deco duo when he first came to the first team, but this Geri and Luis carried the same solid weight of affection. Leo leans a little into Luis' side. He tightens his fingers into Leo's bicep. Training always felt fucking exhausting after the holidays.

'Anyway,' Geri says once he recovers from whatever jokes he'd been cracking, 'drinks at my house tonight, no exceptions. As President, I decree that a bonding experience for the whole team is in order, to integrate the newbies.'

'Don't let the actual President hear you,' Ivan says wryly.

'Shut up, I do what I want,' Geri flips him off with a grin. 'So. Everyone's in?'

Frenkie sneaks a quick glance at Ivan, then at Marc who shrugs like an unimpressed parent accustomed to Geri's silly antics. On the other side of the room, Griezmann is too caught up in a conversation with Ousmane to reply. Geri crosses his arms and taps his foot, exchanging an exasperated glance with Samu. The defender sighs, nudges Griezmann and relays the invitation in French.

'A party? Don’t we have training in the morning?’ he says to Geri.

'You just want to play videogames with Ousmane until 3:00 a.m.' Geri replies. 'Drinks with the whole team would be more productive, don't you think?'

'Is this some sort of tradition?' Griezmann looks skeptically around, eyes stopping on Leo. 'Does the captain approve?'

'I'm also a captain, dickhead,' Geri snaps his fingers at him, pointing to an invisible armband.

'And we're not going to get in trouble for this?' Griezmann insists.

'You get in trouble if you can't perform in training,' Leo finally replies, sitting a little straighter. 'But your teammates will also give you shit if you don't show up to Geri's get-together.'

'It's the pre-season, it's not like we have a game tomorrow!' Jordi pipes up. 'Jeez, relax, will you? You can be a fucking try-hard when the season starts.'

'Look, the kid is coming, isn't that right?' Geri tries again, flashing Frenkie a winning smile. Frenkie glances quickly at Leo and nods.

'You don't have to come if you don't want to,' Luis says suddenly. 'Just know we're all going to be talking shit about you behind your back if you don't.'

'I thought that was a given,' Griezmann smiles sweetly. Then he squares his shoulders, picks up his bag and makes for the door.

'Text me the address,' he says to Leo with a wink, then he disappears.

'Can you believe the fucking cheek!' Geri splutters as Samu and Ousmane roar with laughter.

'What just happened?' Jordi looks around confused.

'I think he just asked for Leo's number, basically' Clément says, then the whole squad starts whistling and howling.

'You can’t say he lacks ambition' Vidal says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

'I can fucking punch him in the face,' Luis seethes. Leo squeezes his thigh reassuringly.

'Would be a shame. It's a pretty face, for a white boy' Samu says, doing a hilarious attempt at Voguing.

'Forgive him, Luis, for he knows not what he is doing,' Ivan says solemnly, his hands clasped in mock-prayer.

'Let's go,' Leo says softly, pulling on his shoes. He leaves without a glance, knowing Luis would be right behind him.

* * *

'That little prick,' Luis finally snaps in the safety of his car. In the passenger seat, Leo keeps silent, his eyes flicking down the familiar row of houses.

'Seriously, who does he think he is? Oh, right, he thinks he's just as good as you or Ronaldo. Fucking idiot. He wins a World Cup and suddenly he's the king of football!'

'You passed my house,' Leo points out.

'Oh. Didn't you want to come to mine?' Luis deflates, sneaking an uncertain glance at Leo, and pulls over.

'Not today,' Leo says without meeting his gaze.

'Oh,' Luis says again. They usually had dinner at Luis' place after practice, unless one of them had some previous arrangement. It was their thing.

'I'll see you tonight,' Leo says with no further explanation, opening the door and leaving Luis gaping behind the wheel.

* * *

Sprawling on the couch in his living room, Leo toys with his phone. He keeps replaying the training session in his mind, searching for clues in Griezmann's lingering stares, in his over-the-top juggles, in his attempts at dribbling and too-loud cheers.

 _Text me the address_ he said, to Leo instead of Geri. Why? Because he was captain? It was stupid. The party was at Geri's house. So he must have had another reason. To get his phone number? Ridiculous. He could have asked any of his French buddies in the squad. They were going to set up a new WhatsApp group anyway, it's not like Leo's number was a big secret for the players. Which meant he'd wanted Leo to go to the trouble of getting his.

Again, why?

To rile him up. To get his attention. Even before coming to Camp Nou, Griezmann had been wearing a giant neon sign that read "NOTICE ME" in big, bold letters. And he was flashing this sign directly at Leo. He recognized the pattern, really. Everyone wanted a piece of him and people were usually either too shy to engage him, trying and failing to be unobtrusive, or they actively and even aggressively sought him out. Few were as bold as Griezmann.

Everything from his unconventional hairdos to his ugly tattoos and ridiculous goal celebrations was designed to attract attention and invite debate. While those aspects of his public persona were of no particular concern to Leo, his statements were. Griezmann was challenging him. Provoking him.

He wasn't the first to do so. Players liked talking shit, even if most of them respected him for his abilities. Defenders hated him, strikers thought they were better than him... It didn't matter much to Leo. He never responded to such comments because he had nothing to prove. The proof was on the pitch. Everyone could use big words, but not everyone had the skill to back them up. And when someone demonstrated great things with the ball, Leo was humble enough to acknowledge them.

Still, it didn't feel like Griezmann was just fishing for his approval. Perhaps that was part of it, but there was something else, something Leo couldn't quite make out. Something he needed more evidence of before hazarding a guess as to what it might be.

It hadn't been this mysterious with Ney, Leo thought ruefully. On a whim, he pulled up Ney's Instagram and scrolled through the pictures. He was not pining. He didn't do pining. But sometimes, he wished for those simpler, happier times. With Ney, it had been easy. Everything had been crystal clear from the get-go. Ney admired him, he loved his football, and he wanted him.

Leo's nose flared as he remembered the naked want in those hazel eyes when they'd first met. It had seemed almost indecent, to him anyway, and he hadn't quite known how to react. Geri teased, Andrés disapproved, Puyol pretended not to notice, and Leo... Leo was spellbound by the young Brazilian with a dazzling smile and equally dazzling skills.

Leo grips himself through his jeans and frowns. He was _not_ going to masturbate to the memory of Ney right now. He had to figure out what to do about Griezmann.

* * *

In the end, he decided to do nothing. He pulled on a clean, plain white T-shirt, some ripped jeans and red sneakers and headed out. He was going to Geri's party, since it was, in fact, a sort of tradition at the start of each season, apart from the more formal dinner with the coaches. If Griezmann decided to show up, he would do his best to observe him and work out what the Frenchman wanted from him, exactly. If he didn't, well, it was probably for the best. Though something told Leo that Griezmann wasn't the kind of guy to miss the opportunity to show off, despite his token complaints about training tomorrow.

As he pulls into Geri's driveway, Leo sees there are quite a few cars parked already. The host hadn't specified a time, so he can't really be late, but it looked like most of the squad was already there and, judging by the deep bass of the music coming from the house, the party was in full swing. Leo buzzes himself in and quickly spots Luis at the bar.

'Hi,' he says meekly.

'You made it.' Luis sounds cautious as he spreads his arms for a hug. Leo tries to convey as much remorse and gratitude as he can through his firm grip, and Luis seems to understand that Leo has worked through whatever issue he had and all was well. Leo could kiss him sometimes.

'So almost everyone is here,' Luis fills him in as he opens a beer. 'One of Ivan's daughters is sick and his wife is away so he said he can't come.'

'Not the soul of the party, is he,' Leo drawls. Ivan was alright, but he was a family man through and through and never participated in any extra-curricular activities if he could help it.

'Do you think he's pissed about Frenkie?' Luis speculates, watching said Dutchman laugh easily with Marc and Rafinha at the back of the room.

'Probably,' Leo nods. 'Frenkie is better than him.'

'Physically, yeah. We'll see how he does,' Luis shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

'He'll do well,' Leo says, uncharacteristically determined. He wanted Frenkie to succeed and he could already see that the boy would be a good fit for the team. He had the right kind of philosophy, he was ambitious and bold, he promised to be much more than a smart PR move.

Speaking of...

'Is he here?' Leo asks. Luis glances at him from the corner of his eye, but he doesn't need to ask who Leo is talking about.

'Did you text him?' Luis asks instead.

'No.'

'Why?'

'I don't have his number,' Leo replies, his poker face betraying nothing.

Luis chuckles and shakes his head, finishing his beer. He busies himself with opening another, letting Leo stew for a little longer. Served him right.

'The French foursome is having a private pool party,' Luis informs him eventually. 'They found a boom box and confiscated a crate of wine, last I checked.'

Leo nods, carefully peeling the label from his beer bottle. He scans the room for Geri and finds him bent over the coffee table with Sergi Roberto on the other end, a sizeable spread of sushi between them.

'What's going on?' he asks Busi who is filming the two on his phone.

'Sushi contest,' Busi answers as Geri waves to him in greeting.

'We're going to Japan!' Geri explains. His Catalan accent was getting thicker, which meant Leo had really been late to the party if the defender was already on his way to getting drunk.

'I know,' Leo says, eyeing the sushi with barely concealed disgust. 'So what's this then?'

'Geri thinks he can eat more sushi than me in under one minute,' Sergi supplies. 'He really can't.'

'I can! I'll show you!' Geri protests. 'Busi, start the clock!'

Leo shakes his head and turns away from that particular captain bonding experience, opting instead to make some rounds and greet the players who were still inside. Out back, he could see the French had attracted most of the squad to their pool party. Leaving Luis to make sure the Catalan captains would survive their repulsive contest, Leo slides the glass doors leading to the back yard.

The speakers were blasting a Maluma song and everyone seemed to be having fun. Nelson and Arthur were attempting to get Neto drunk, Phil and Rafinha were chasing each-other around the pool while Frenkie and Marc watched in amusement and Vidal looked like he was about to cannonball into the water. On the far side, next to the boom box, the French were dancing to the music. Clément had clearly had too much to drink and his coordination was shot, while Ousmane seemed to be doing random Fortnite moves. (Leo cursed himself for even recognizing them. He was too old for that shit.)

But Samu and Griezmann were slowly rocking together to the beat, chest to chest, hips grinding sinfully, bare arms swaying with the music. The contrast of their skin was stark and mesmerizing, Griezmann's smaller frame bracketed by Samu's strong biceps as the blond threaded his fingers through his hair. Leo sees Samu mouthing the lyrics to the song, some of which were apparently in French, and he watches transfixed as Griezmann throws his head back.

His deep blue gaze catches Leo staring. A lazy smile tugs at those sinful lips as he turns around, presses his back to Samu and starts to gyrate his hips without missing a beat. He never takes his eyes off Leo.

Leo swallows thickly but keeps his expression carefully blank, eyes burning, not moving a muscle. Griezmann's smile widens as he renews his efforts, the music changing to something more upbeat. Leo sees Samu's hand moving from Griezmann's hip to his stomach and the blond throws his head back against the defender's shoulder. Leo feels his own fingers clench tightly around his beer, wishing they could clench around Griezmann's throat.

'No.'

Leo jumps when Luis comes up next to him.

'What?' he says, his eyes turning back to the pair of dancers. Griezmann raises a challenging brow, then turns around to face Samu.

'I said no,' Luis grunts in his ear, not that there was anyone else within hearing distance. 'This is a bad idea, Leo.'

'Mmm,' Leo raises the bottle to his lips and drains half of it in one go.

'Leo! I'm serious. Look at me!'

Leo finally manages to take his eyes off of Griezmann's ass and turns towards his friend.

'Leo... What are you doing?'

Luis sounded pained, his eyebrows pulled in a disapproving frown.

'Nothing,' Leo replies, feeling suddenly defensive.

'That doesn't look like nothing,' Luis pushes on.

'You're right,' Leo snaps. 'It looks like our star signing is five seconds away from getting fucked on Geri's lawn.'

'Do you think they're together?' Luis wonders aloud, momentarily transfixed by the show.

'No,' Leo barks, eyes flashing dangerously. He is taken aback by the white-hot rage that bubbled inside him at Luis' words. Shit. More reasonably, he adds, 'You know Samu is a slut when he's dunk.'

'Looks about right,' Luis says, his voice a little hoarse.

Before Leo can say anything else, Geri and the others rush onto the patio, cheering loudly.

'Leo!' Geri yells and pulls him into a one-armed hug. 'Leoleoleoleo, I won!'

'What?' Leo manages, squished under Geri's armpit.

'Japan!' he offers unhelpfully.

'Good for you,' Leo says, trying and failing to free himself.

'Hey, listen up everyone! Turn that music down!' Geri slurs in Catalan, then in English. 'The captain is here!'

There are enthusiastic cheers from the sushi squad and the boys from Barça B, and heartfelt clapping all around. Clément finally manages to turn off the boom box and Leo sees Griezmann fixing him with an unreadable stare.

'Speech! Speech! Speech!' Vidal yells from the pool and soon everyone joins in the chorus. Fucking traditions.

'Go on, Leo,' Luis nudges him gently with a warm smile. Leo scratches his beard and shuffles a little before raising his hands to stop the chants. Everyone cheers again and Leo fumbles a little before clasping his hands behind his back and clearing his throat.

'Hi. Um, welcome back, everyone. It's good to see you all. I know... things didn't really go as well as we wanted last season, but that's in the past. We have to be proud of what we achieved and look to do better this season. I know we can do it. Um...' He pauses for a second as some people clap. He’d managed to inject a decent amount of conviction into that statement, after all. He deliberately turns away from the French corner, instead fixing his gaze somewhere above Frenkie's shoulder for the next part.

'To those of you who are new, welcome to Barça. It wasn't easy to get here, but you made it and you should be proud of yourselves. The best is yet to come, so work hard, remember that we are a family and together we can do anything. You are now part of the greatest football club in the world. Enjoy it and have fun tonight.'

Everyone cheers loudly as he ends his little speech. Frenkie smiles gratefully and nods, and Leo manages to nod in return. Geri has picked up Riqui Puig and is giving him a ride on his shoulders. Marc ruffles Neto's hair and Arthur punches the new keeper's arm enthusiastically. Leo feels Luis' warm hand on his back and he leans into it. Then, he hears a rustle to his left.

'Good speech, captain.'

Leo turns sharply to see Griezmann's smirking face approaching him. He feels Luis' hand twitch warningly at the small of his back.

'Thank you,' Leo says to Griezmann's left ear.

'I look forward to playing with you both,' Griezmann says formally, then he raises an expectant brow at Luis.

Leo feels Luis' angry huff of breath and puts a placating hand on his shoulder. They exchange a long glance, but at Leo's small nod, Luis sighs and goes back inside.

'You didn't text me.' Griezmann has the audacity to pout.

'You didn't give me your number,' Leo says lightly. Vidal is now cheering the Barça B boys, as one by one they jump in the pool yelling "Visca Barça".

'Pity...' Griezmann twirls a strand of hair around his finger. Leo would find it ridiculous except it _works._

Someone turns the boom box on again. It was one of Shakira's songs, prompting a roaring cheer from their host.

'Want to dance?'

'I don't dance,' Leo says tightly. Griezmann steps closer, hips swaying dangerously.

'Pity,' he says again. His eyes are glinting with something unspoken and Leo feels trapped.

Griezmann takes another step forward, close enough that Leo can feel the heat of his skin and the wine on his breath, but not quite touching. Leo's fingers itch to grab him, somewhere, anywhere, but he doesn't move an inch. Griezmann flashes him another lazy smile and closes his eyes, moving with the music and singing along softly.

' _Me ena-ena-namoré, Me ena-na-namo, Mira que cosa bonita, Que boca más redondita, Me gusta esa barbita..._ '

Leo bites his lip and Griezmann chooses that exact moment to open his eyes. They were impossibly blue, a little glassy from the wine but still sharp, glinting with the thrill of the chase. Leo inhales sharply, and isn't that a stupid mistake. His senses are overwhelmed by the Frenchman's sweet smell, something oriental but not overpowering that goes straight to his cock. He might have whimpered, but Griezmann takes a step back, then another and another, then he winks and saunters off towards the pool house, throwing Leo one last heated look over his shoulder.

Leo releases a shuddering breath and watches him go, not sure his legs would be steady enough to carry him forward if he wanted to follow. Did he?

'Leooooo,' comes Geri's slurred sing-song, snapping him out of his internal crisis. His pupils were probably blown wide and he can't quite focus on Geri's face, but he doubts the taller man would notice.

'Leo, come on, you have to...'

'What?' Leo says breathily, then louder, when Geri doesn't offer any further explanation.

'You have to... do the thing... with the cup...'

Leo blinks a few times in confusion, then rolls his eyes. Fucking traditions.

'Come oooooon,' Geri insists, pulling him by the arm towards the group of players who are eagerly waiting for him with last season's League cup and several bottles of champagne. One year, someone (probably Geri) had decided that, at the beginning of each season, they would drink from whatever trophies they won last year, in hopes that they would win again. Leo thought it was stupid, really, not to mention the hassle of smuggling the trophies from the museum for one night, but Geri insisted it was for good luck. And, as captain, he was supposed to take the first sip.

Everyone starts cheering loudly as he approaches. Leo spots Luis to one side, arms crossed and face scrunched up in a frown. So Leo pushes Geri aside, takes the League trophy from Busi's hands and empties a bottle of champagne into it. He then goes over to Luis and pushes one handle into his hands in silent apology. Luis is still frowning, but he holds up his end of the cup and together they take the first sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long-haired Griezmann is the best Griezmann so that's what I'm going with in this fic, even if it's not technically accurate for the timeline.  
> The party and all its associated traditions are completely made up, but I wouldn't put it past Geri to pull something like this off.
> 
> As always, please drop me a line in the comments. You're not annoying me, I promise. Kudos are love <3


	3. Fickle

'You didn't follow me,' Griezmann says to Leo in lieu of a greeting the next morning at practice. He looks fresh and clean, nothing betraying how he'd danced drunk on wine well into the night. Nothing like Leo, dark circles under his dull eyes, hair sticking out at odd angles. Griezmann's tone is not accusatory, it seems more amused than anything, yet Leo still feels deeply uncomfortable.

'There seems to be a pattern,' Leo comments, busying himself with his new shoes.

'Mmm,' Griezmann sits down next to him uninvited. Thankfully, his survival instinct steers him away from Luis' usual spot and he takes the seat on Leo's right.

'Shouldn't you have made sure I got home safe?' Griezmann goes on, pretending to fiddle with his socks. 'You know, as captain?'

'I'm not anyone's babysitter,' Leo replies sharply, trying to get the ends of his shoelaces at the same length. 'Besides,' he adds, aiming for nonchalance, 'I thought Samu was taking you home.'

Griezmann laughs, not a suave chuckle but a full-bodied laugh, merry like a choir of bells on Christmas. Leo does glance up at that and sees the corners of his eyes crinkle with joy. A quick look around confirms that everyone is now staring at them. Geri was probably congratulating himself on the unexpected success of his little bonding exercise. Thankfully, Luis is running late and isn't around to witness the show.

'He did,' Griezmann says in a low voice once his laughter subsides. 'We watched Netflix.'

Leo looks at him sharply, trying to determine what the blond actually meant by that. It prompts another chuckle from Griezmann, this one definitely more provocative.

'Next time, you should join us,' he offers with a wink and Leo goes back to fiddling with his shoelaces. Griezmann gets up, jumps in place a few times and heads towards the gym. Leo gives up on his shoes and leans back, resting his head against the locker. He resists the urge to bang it a few times, knowing the dull ache at the base of his skull would only get worse.

'What was that about?' Geri inquires, dropping into the recently vacated seat.

'You're an asshole,' Leo says with no real bite.

'Me? What did I do?' Geri splutters, making Leo wince.

'You and your stupid parties and your fucking traditions...' Leo cracks his eyes open to see Luis wandering in. He looked much better than Leo felt, but a small frown still lingered on his brow. 'I hate you,' Leo proclaims.

'You don't hate me, you love me,' Geri puts his arms around Leo, pulling him into a hug. Leo feels too grumpy to return it, but doesn't push him away either.

'You're so fickle, Leo,' Luis drawls, putting his bag in his locker.

'No, he loves you more, you know that,' Geri says, turning Leo around in his arms to face Luis. 'But I've known him longer.'

'Luis...' Leo says weakly.

'Is that so,' Luis says flatly, but there is a smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

'Luis...' Leo says again, smiling softly. 'Luuuis?' he sing-songs, holding out his maté gourd.

'Keep saying my name like that and I'll marry you,' Luis jokes, accepting the tea. Their fingers brush and Luis locks eyes with Leo, noting his remorse and his affection. So he smiles, shakes his head and takes a sip of maté.

'Later,' Leo whispers to him as Geri whistles and laughs like a maniac. Luis nods once, hands him the gourd and changes into his training gear.

* * *

Leo is sprawled on Luis' couch after training, cursing his body for apparently being so out of shape. Mister had them working out in the gym for hours and Leo's muscles are screaming bloody murder. It's not like he gained weight during the summer, like a few of his teammates, but he needs to build up his strength again. He hates the gym.

'Here,' Luis says, bringing a bowl of strawberries from the kitchen and setting it on Leo's stomach. Leo raises his head so Luis can sit down, cursing his aching abdominals, then settles down comfortably in his lap. Luis reaches over his head, grabs a strawberry and starts flicking through his Netflix.

Leo frowns.

'Luis?'

'Hm?'

'Do you really think Griezmann and Samu are together?'

Luis sighs, settling on _Friends_. Leo twists his head towards the screen when he hears the theme song, smiling. Luis considers switching the audio track to English just to spite Leo, but he doesn't have the heart to do it so he resigns himself to sitting though the Spanish dubbed version. At least he knew all the episodes.

'Luis?' Leo prompts him again.

'What does it matter?' Luis asks, knowing the answer already. Of course it mattered.

'Of course it matters,' Leo says immediately. 'They're our teammates. You know? Don't we have a right to know about this sort of thing?'

'Do you actually hear yourself right now, you hypocrite?' Luis says, huffing in amusement. Or frustration. Or a bit of both.

'That was different,' Leo rolls his eyes, picking another strawberry.

'How?'

'Everyone knew,' Leo shrugs, chewing slowly.

'No, everyone assumed. It's not the same.'

'It is if it's true,' Leo licks his fingers and eyes the bowl again.

'That doesn't even make any sense. Anyway, as a general rule, no, I don't think we're entitled to know about our teammates' private lives.'

'But if they are, won't it... affect the dynamic or something?'

Luis could punch him sometimes. He really could.

'They're not even on the same end of the pitch. How could it possibly affect anything?'

'In training?' Leo ventures, selecting a very ripe strawberry. 'Samu might go easy on the tackles...'

'Everyone already goes easy on you. Does that mean you're fucking the entire squad?'

'I could be,' Leo adds cheekily, then lets out a low moan as the strawberry flavour explodes on his tongue. 'God, that's so good!'

'Fucking hell,' Luis mutters, adjusting his position slightly. 'I shouldn't have got you fucking strawberries.'

'But they're my favourite,' Leo pouts, licking his fingers again. Fucking hell.

'Look, if they were together, we would've heard about it before that fucker even got here. You know Ousmane, that kid can't keep his mouth shut and I doubt he wouldn't have found out if there was anything going on.' Luis sighs, pulling on a loose thread on his pants. 'He's just messing with you.'

'He said they watched Netflix.'

'So? We're watching Netflix now.'

'Yeah, but this is different.'

'Why?'

'We're not like them.'

'Why?'

'Because I love you.'

Luis freezes. Then he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head.

'I do,' Leo sets the strawberry bowl aside and sits up to face Luis. 'Just...'

'Yeah, I know,' Luis says quickly.

Leo sighs, takes his hand and holds it between his. He gently rubs over each knuckle, then presses his lips to his palm. Luis brushes his fingers lightly over Leo's beard and pulls him closer, cradling Leo's head in the crook of his neck.

'He said he's in love with me,' Leo says after a while. Luis has to laugh.

'He fucking didn't,' Luis howls.

'He did! Well... He sang it,' Leo concedes.

'Fuck off,' Luis shoves him playfully.

'It was that song... You know... Shakira's.'

'At the party?' Luis wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

'Yeah.'

'Oh, how does it go?'

'Fuck you, I'm not singing it.'

'Why, aren't you in love with me?' Luis can laugh about it now. The whole situation is just too ridiculous.

'I hate you,' Leo grabs the bowl of strawberries and sits down at the other end of the couch.

'Do you like him?' Luis asks earnestly.

'No, he's an asshole,' Leo replies way too quickly.

'Hmm,' Luis stretches out so his head rests against Leo's thigh. He opens his mouth in silent request.

'He's not even that pretty,' Leo grumbles, feeding Luis a strawberry.

'Definitely not,' Luis says with his mouth full. Leo pulls a face.

'And he's French! Fucking French!'

'Mmm, you hate the French,' Luis agrees, grinning.

'Well, Titi was amazing...'

'He's not even French, though,' Luis reminds him. 'He's a blood traitor.'

'Do you think it's the fake Uruguayan act that- ’

'Definitely. Uruguayans are sexy as fuck. The French are just a bunch of poncy dicks who think they sound hot.'

'They really don't.'

The two dissolve into giggles, doing their worst French impersonations. After a while, they settle down to watch the TV, Leo's hand resting gently over Luis' chest.

'Fucking French idiot with his stupid curly hair and his stupid blue eyes and his stupid perfect lips.'

'You really hate him, huh,' Luis drawls. Leo throws his head back and groans.

'What the fuck am I going to do?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leo is a cuddle monster and I have no shame.  
> Titi is, of course, Thierry Henry.  
> As always, please drop me a line, argue about subtitles vs dubs with me or criticize my choice of post-workout food. Kudos make the world go round!


	4. Grounded

The Japanese hotel lobby was decked in blues and reds in honour of their special guests. As the players filed in, signing autographs and posing with the fans despite their fatigue, everyone seemed excited to get settled in and start their pre-season adventure. That is, everyone except for the captain.

'No,' Leo says sharply. Valverde is a little taken aback by his tone.

'Leo, come on,' the coach argues. 'It's for the good of the team.'

'I want Luis,' Leo says firmly. They couldn't do this to him. It wasn't fair.

'Leo, my decision is final. You will share a room with Antoine and get to know each-other, build up some chemistry. We're going to need that this season, and so far, you haven't been linking up so well in training.'

'It's not my fault,' Leo says automatically.

'I'm not blaming anyone here, Leo,' Valverde tries to placate him. 'But it's your duty to help him integrate into the squad, isn't it?'

Leo seethes. How dare he play that card with him? But he keeps his mouth shut. He will just switch rooms later, once he finds out who Luis is partnered with.

'Leo?'

'Fine,' he says flatly, taking his key card off the desk and heading towards the elevators.

'Everything alright?' Griezmann smiles serenely as he joins him.

'Fine,' Leo says, pushing the elevator button with more force than necessary.

'Hmm.' Griezmann pulls his troller back and forth, swaying on the balls of his feet.

'Would you stop that?' Leo snaps, pushing the button again a few more times. Was the damned thing broken?

'Sorry,' Griezmann says with no remorse, but stops fidgeting. 'Anything else I should know?'

'Huh?' Leo almost looks at him. Almost.

'You know, as your _roommate_. Wouldn't want to annoy you,' Griezmann says. Leo doesn't like the way he says _roommate_. It sounds dirty.

'You won't be,' Leo says, sighing as the elevator finally starts to come down. 'I'm going to find Luis and stay with him.'

'Oh? Is that allowed?' Griezmann asks innocently. Leo doesn't bother to answer. 'I wanted to room with Ousmane but Mister told me I was rooming with you.'

Leo keeps silent as the elevator slowly makes its way down. When the doors open, he darts inside, checking the room number and pushing the button for the top floor. Fucking perfect. A long elevator ride with Griezmann and no-one else was all he needed right now.

'So who is Luis rooming with, then?' Griezmann asks.

'I don't know, but I'm going to find out,' Leo says, pulling out his phone. There was no service.

'What if I don't like whoever he's rooming with, though?' Griezmann goes on. 'What if I don't want to switch partners?'

'I don't give a fuck,' Leo says through clenched teeth. Could the elevator move any slower?

'Well, I suppose you and Luis could share a bed. That way, I'll have our room all to myself.'

Leo is this close to throttling him when the elevator stops. It isn't their floor yet, so Leo curses as the doors open and Samu gets in.

'Hey! There's a really cool bar on this floor! We should check it out later," he says in heavily accented Spanish.

'Cool,' Griezmann says, then he grabs his arm and sniffs him. Sniffs him. Oh, God.

Leo watches as they strike up a conversation in rapid French. He thinks it might be about perfumes or something like that, but really, it could be anything. Leo seethes.

'Oh, we're here,' Griezmann says brightly. They all get out of the elevator, then Samu realises his room is on the opposite end of the hallway from theirs, so he and Griezmann stop to kiss twice on the cheek before parting ways. Leo doesn't wait for his temporary roommate and goes ahead to their room.

'Nice!' Griezmann's assessment of their room doesn't exactly do it justice. The suite is spacious and tastefully decorated in minimalist greys and whites, the beds look inviting, but the greatest thing about their room is the view. The whole city was sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows and, as the sun began to set, the room was bathed in soft pink hues.

'Right,' Leo says, parking his troller next to the nearest bed. 'I'm going to find Luis.'

'Good luck with that,' Griezmann shrugs and throws himself onto the bed closer to the window. The sound he makes is downright obscene.

'My God, Leo, you have to try this mattress!' Griezmann groans, his voice muffled by the thick duvet.

Instead, Leo pulls out his phone again, but there is still no service. Cursing modern architecture and shitty providers, he looks around for the hotel's WiFi password, but he can't find it anywhere. After a few minutes of leafing through what he assumes is the room service menu, though it was all in Japanese, he throws it across the room and sits down in one of the chairs.

'They've done it on purpose,' comes Griezmann's voice from his bed. He hasn't moved, round ass rising invitingly from the sharp slope of his back, but his face is no longer squished into the pillows. 'I overheard Mister talking to someone earlier. They don't want us to fuck up our sleep or anything, so they're not giving us the WiFi password for this floor.'

'So what, no Internet for a week? Are we grounded?' Leo huffs.

'There should be WiFi on other floors, but we're probably not supposed to leave our rooms after curfew, no?’

Wordlessly, Leo gets up and goes out into the hallway, hoping against hope that he might run into Luis by accident. Instead, he sees a towering frame going into a room at the end of the hallway.

'Geri! Wait!' Leo yells, running towards him. Geri pulls his head back, spots Leo and waves him over.

'Hey! What room are you in?' Geri asks him.

'They got me in with Griezmann. Have you seen Luis?'

‘No, but he's rooming with me,' Geri says confused. 'I was wandering about that, actually.'

'Fucking Valverde, going on about "bonding" and "chemistry"...' Leo pushes past Geri and starts pacing in the middle of his room. Wisely, Geri closes the door and sits down on his bed.

'Well, it does make sense, doesn't it?' Geri offers. Leo's eyes shoot daggers at him.

'No, it doesn't make any fucking sense, Geri. I always room with Luis. Everyone knows that.'

'Well, except when he's injured,' Geri points out. 'Or when you're injured.'

'Yeah, well, except for that, but we're both here, aren't we? So why the fuck did they put us in separate rooms?'

'Wow, you're really getting worked up over this, aren't you?' Geri comments.

'Of course I'm fucking worked up, how the fuck am I going to sleep?' Leo seems to have exhausted himself for the moment, so he stretches out on the other bed. Geri is grinning like an idiot and Leo doesn't want to see his mocking face. 'What if he snores?'

'Who, Griezmann? Nah,' Geri says, waving a hand.

'Wait, how would you know?' Leo sits up, eyeing Geri quizzically.

'Passed by his seat on the plane. He was sleeping like a baby.'

Leo huffs and lies back down.

'What if he likes to sleep with the AC on?'

'With that hair? I doubt it,' Geri comments. Leo wanders what his hair had to do with anything. Which gets him thinking about his hair. God fucking dammit.

'What if...'

'Look, Leo,' Geri finally interrupts him. 'You don't like him. I get it. You want Luis, but that's too bad. You don't have to be best friends with the guy, but you do have to be able to work together. And if you can negotiate who gets the first shower, then maybe you'll be able to negotiate better on the pitch, ok?'

'That makes no fucking sense,' Leo says weakly. It really wasn't like that. Then, 'What if he can't sleep without the TV on?'

'There's only Japanese stuff on all the channels, I checked. He won't even turn it on,' Geri assures him.

'What if he's into those weird cartoons?'

'You used to be into those weird cartoons, remember?' Geri pulls him up and ushers him towards the door. 'Maybe you can bond over them. Now go, it's almost curfew.'

'Will you tell Luis...'

'Yeah, I'll let him know you stopped by and you miss him and you can't live without him. Good night!'

Geri closes the door behind him and Leo is left alone in the empty hallway. In retrospect, he feels a bit silly coming to Geri to complain about his new teammate/roommate like a bratty kid at summer camp.

It was shitty of him, objectively speaking, he knows that. He should be a good captain and try to be more welcoming. The problem was, Griezmann got on his fucking nerves. And he was doing it on purpose, Leo could tell. He acted all wide-eyed and innocent in public, like he hadn't been fucking grinding against Leo at the party. He was the epitome of professionalism in training, finding subtle ways to tease Leo so the others wouldn't suspect a thing. And when he wasn't all business, he draped himself over his French buddies, especially Samu, in what seemed to Leo to be highly compromising positions. However, the others simply attributed their behaviour to being, well, French.

Leo was not having it.

As he drags his feet towards his room ( _their_ room, his treacherous brain supplies), he realises that, in his hurry to catch Geri, he forgot his keycard. And the doors locked automatically.

Well, shit.

* * *

He briefly considers going to another room, any room, just so he won't have to get fucking Griezmann to open the door for him. He would only be delaying the inevitable, seeing as all his stuff was there and indeed, as Geri pointed out, it was almost curfew.

Sighing and bracing himself for the Frenchman's mocking grin (he can picture it so clearly, it’s infuriating), Leo squares his shoulders and knocks.

After a considerable pause, he knocks again.

Sweet Jesus, his day just kept getting better and better. Leo closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door and listening for any rustling inside. What he hears instead is the shower.

Great. Just great. Leo pulls his phone from his pocket, hopelessly checking for signal. Frustrated, he pushes it back in his jeans and starts pounding his fist against the door.

He was doing it on purpose, Leo was sure of it. He must have seen him leaving the room in a hurry, saw his keycard and decided to spite him for his previous comments about their rooming situation. The fucker probably wasn't even in the shower, he'd just turned it on as a decoy. And Valverde! Why did he suddenly decide to act all strict with them? They hadn't lost at Anfield because they'd had fucking WiFi in their hotel rooms! This was ridiculous!

Leo is so caught up on his internal monologue that he almost doesn't notice the door opening. He loses his balance for a second, head no longer resting against the smooth wooden surface, his clenched fist half-raised. Griezmann is standing there wearing nothing but a fluffy towel and a confused expression. He is clearly coming straight from the shower, thoroughly drenched, a soapy sud running down his neck. It looks like Leo has interrupted him mid-shampoo and the Frenchman is none too pleased.

Wordlessly, Leo pushes past him, shivering as his arm brushes against Griezmann's wet elbow in the tight hallway. He makes his way to his bed, finds the remote and starts flipping through the channels. He absolutely refuses to look in Griezmann's direction.

The blond snaps out of his stunned confusion and pushes the door closed. Then he makes his way into the room, crossing his arms and staring resolutely at Leo for a solid minute.

Leo can see him in his peripheral vision, just left of the screen. If Griezmann is waiting for an explanation or, God forbid, an apology, he is in for a very long wait. Leo doesn't care how petty he’s being. It’s Griezmann’s fucking fault for being in his room, because it is _his_ , and it should have been his and _Luis'_ , and if he has a problem with that he can very well shove it.

Griezmann starts to shiver slightly. The AC is on, Leo notes absently, cursing Geri and his stupid assumptions. Then, Griezmann snorts, halfway between exasperation and amusement, and goes back into the bathroom.

Leo lets out a shuddering breath.

When he hears the shower being turned on again, he allows his shoulders to relax and glances around the room. Griezmann's stuff is quite neatly unpacked in his half of the room, apart from his jacket which was thrown over one of the chairs in the common area. His scent is everywhere already, sweet and musky, combined with the spicy smell of his shampoo. Absently, Leo spots his keycard on the table, next to Griezmann's sunglasses.

Sighing, Leo pushes himself off the bed and starts rummaging through his suitcase. He doesn't care about getting clean right now. He just wants this day to fucking end already. So he pulls out a worn Adidas T-shirt and strips to his briefs quickly, folding his dirty clothes on top of his suitcase. Then, he pulls the curtains over the beautiful cityscape, turns off the TV (Geri was right about that one), the AC (with a vindictive little leer) and the lights. He crawls under the sheets, face turned towards the wall, and stifles a groan as he feels his whole body relax. The mattress was really fucking good.

The shower turns off again, making Leo tense automatically. In the dark, he listens to Griezmann shuffle around in the bathroom, then he hears the dull buzzing of his electric toothbrush. A couple of minutes later, the buzzing stops, the sink tap turns on, then off, and the door clicks open.

Leo tries to control his breathing. He doesn't much care if Griezmann believes he is asleep or not. But if he even thinks about switching on the lights...

After a brief pause, Griezmann turns off the lights in the bathroom. Leo can feel the fragrant steam permeating the room. His jaw clenches. Then he hears Griezmann's careful steps as he navigates the room in the dark, then another rustle as he presumably discards his towel and crawls into bed. There is another, deeper sigh, a brief flash of light as he checks his phone, then darkness. And silence.

Leo's blood is boiling.

Still, he refuses to move a muscle, trying to keep his breathing steady. Conversely, Griezmann switches positions a few times, fluffing up his pillow, then settles down and yawns.

Leo feels his anger deflating. He really is very tired and stressing about rooming arrangements has seemingly drained his last bit of energy. The bed is incredibly comfortable and Leo thinks he could perhaps fall asleep for real. His arm is stiff, so he tries to turn on his back as quietly as possible.

Then, he hears a rustle and he feels Griezmann's eyes on him. Leo focuses on his breathing and keeps his eyes firmly closed. They seem to stay like that for a very long time, locked in a passive-aggressive stalemate, but Leo refuses to give him the satisfaction of interacting. He doesn't know about the Frenchman, but he can be incredibly patient when properly motivated. He can't hear anything apart from Griezmann's steady breathing, light enough to confirm he hasn't fallen asleep yet. Leo tries to match his breaths and feels his body grow heavy.

Before drifting off, he hears Griezmann's soft lilt:

' _Bonne nuit._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they were roommates!  
> Probably took wild liberties with their day-to-day during pre-season in Japan, but hey, it's fiction.  
> Leo is an actual toddler, but we love him.  
> As always, drop me a line, bitch about roommates and their terrible habits, cry about foreign TV when you go on vacation, and feed the starving artist with kudos <3


	5. Rag

Leo wakes up slowly, grasping at the remnants of a sweet dream that is already beginning to fade. He feels more rested than he might have expected after spending a night in an unfamiliar bed. His muscles feel loose, cocooned in the warmth of the covers. He opens his eyes, trying to guess the time; a sliver of light penetrates the curtains where he hadn't closed them properly, pale enough to indicate it might still be early. He could probably go back to sleep if he tried.

Then, his gaze falls upon the other bed and his breath hitches. Griezmann is sleeping on his stomach, head turned towards Leo with wild curls obscuring most of his face. His right arm is stretched out towards him, tattoos stark against the crisp white sheets. His covers have slipped during the night, exposing the milky expanse of his shoulders, the sharp curve of his back, the smooth contour of his ass, a strong thigh, a flexed knee, a tight calf, a fine ankle...

Leo swallows. The comfortable warmth of his bed quickly turns into stifling heat. He turns on his side, pushing the covers down a bit, his mouth dry. He can't take his eyes off of Griezmann's lean frame, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His gaze travels from his ribs to his jutting hip that casts a shadow over the dark vee Leo's brain scrambles to retrace from casual locker room glimpses. He feels himself grow hard as images of a wet and glistening Griezmann pop into his head unprompted, half memories, half fantasies.

'Good morning.'

Leo's eyes snap to Griezmann's face. His eyes are hidden behind his honey coloured hair, but his lips are twisted in a knowing smile. Leo swallows. He feels his cheeks redden and hopes the angle and Griezmann's hair hide his face somewhat. The Frenchman yawns, stretching like a cat, half-tangled in the sheets. Then he turns on his back and makes to stretch again, the sheet pushed aside as his left leg flexes, not quite obscuring his groin.

Leo turns his head away sharply, pushing a hand through his hair.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' Griezmann says lightly. 'Does it bother you?'

Leo says nothing, rubbing the heel of his palm over his eyes. He can _feel_ Griezmann's smirk.

'I couldn't find my clothes in the dark and I didn't want to wake you,' he goes on, now sitting up and tapping on his phone.

Leo sees his chance and scrambles towards the bathroom, keeping his eyes firmly away from Griezmann. Inside, he leans against the closed door and sighs, praying that his baggy T-shirt managed to hide his semi.

This simply won't do. Leo strips methodically and gets in the shower. The water is soothing on his heated skin and Leo lets it wash over him, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the tiles. Fucking French asshole... He was absolutely shameless! What the fuck was Leo going to do?

Leo's cock twitches as he remembers the sight of the shameless Frenchman sprawled on the white hotel sheets. No, he can't just rub one off in the shower when Griezmann is _right there_. He won’t let himself be dragged into his little game. He won’t go down that road again and definitely not with _him_.

Sighing, Leo grabs the generic body wash provided by the hotel and lathers himself mechanically (of course he forgot his toiletry bag in his hurry, but he can't be bothered with it now). Alright. If Griezmann wants to parade naked in their room, fine. Leo simply won’t allow himself to be affected by it. Yesterday he'd been tired from the flight, upset about the new rooming situation and he simply hadn’t been prepared to deal with Griezmann. Today was a new day. Getting angry got him nowhere and protesting endlessly only made him look weak and pathetic. It meant Griezmann won. Today he will be nothing but civil, he’ll show Valverde what a good little captain he is and then... he will absolutely destroy the Frenchman on the pitch. A nutmeg or three during rondos will surely teach him not to provoke Leo. Ignoring him won’t work anymore, of that he was certain. Leo had kept his distance as much as possible until now, but Griezmann was about to find out what it meant for Leo to give him his full attention.

* * *

At breakfast, Leo spots Luis at a table in the corner. Miraculously, when he'd got out of the shower, steeling himself for another round of flirty taunts from Griezmann, the Frenchman was nowhere to be seen. Leo doesn't spot him in the dining room either, which makes him relax marginally and he picks some food from the buffet on his way to Luis' table.

'Good morning!' Luis says cheerfully, patting the empty chair to his right. His smile is bright and warm and Leo feels like he can breathe a little easier.

Jordi nods in greeting across from him, his mouth full. Leo raises his glass of water in salute and takes another look around.

'Sleep ok?' Luis asks conversationally. He forks through his omelette, not picking any of it up.

'No,' Leo replies flatly. He gently nudges Luis' leg with his knee under the table, prompting a smaller smile from the Uruguayan that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

'Man, I can't believe Valverde was crazy enough to split you two up,' Jordi says, shaking his head.

'Who split up?' Busi says, taking the remaining seat at their table.

'Leo and Luis,' Jordi informs him. 'Valverde has Leo rooming with Griezmann!'

'That's... bold,' Busi comments.

'It's useless,' Leo supplies, eyeing Luis' half-eaten apple. 'He expects us to build chemistry by sharing a room. It's bullshit.'

'So it's not going well?' Busi actually sounds concerned. Leo wonders if he failed to keep the venom out of his tone or if his teammates simply know him too well by now.

Leo shrugs, reaching out towards Luis' apple. He arches a brow in silent request and, at his friend's nod, he begins slicing perfectly even pieces on his plate. Luis pours some water into his maté gourd and sets it between himself and Leo.

'It's indecent to break up a marriage like that,' Jordi shakes his head theatrically, stirring a snicker from the midfielder. 'Only a monster would do such a thing!'

'Stop being so dramatic,' Luis rolls his eyes. He hasn't moved his leg and Leo feels it warm and solid against his knee. 'Maybe it's a good thing.'

'No it's not,' Leo says sharply. He doesn't raise his head, but his knife stills, gripped tightly in his hand. Jordi and Busi exchange a glance.

'Well, if Valverde wants our football to rub off on Griezmann, he's got the right idea,' Jordi goes on, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Luis chokes on his maté.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Leo fixes him with an icy glare. Jordi raises his hands defensively.

'You know... You're La Masia, you're Barça, you're football, blah blah...'

'It doesn't work like that,' Leo says morosely, taking the maté gourd from Luis.

'It was just a stupid joke,' Busi says, patting his back lightly. 'Relax. He can't be that bad. Besides, we're right next door; in case he tries to kill you in your sleep, just bang on the wall and we'll come and rescue you from the big, bad Frenchman.'

Leo snorts and Busi pats his back again before getting up.

'Come on,' he says to Jordi. 'We have to get ready for training. See you guys later!'

Luis waves them off, then turns towards Leo.

'Is he really that bad?'

'He's not you,' Leo says simply. Luis picks a slice of apple from his plate. 'He's infuriating.'

'I thought you would be more pleased,' Luis shrugs. 'It's a good opportunity, isn't it?'

'To do what?' Leo turns to face him with a frown.

'I don't know,' Luis says, avoiding his eyes. 'To figure out what you want?'

'What I want is for him to fucking go back to where he came from and leave me alone,' Leo growls.

'Wouldn't you miss his stupid hair and his stupid lips?' Luis teases, a little sharper than he would have liked.

'He slept naked,' Leo informs him. 'Who does that?'

'Maybe he was hot,' Luis shrugs.

'Oh, he is and he fucking knows it. He's trying to drive me insane but it won't work.'

'Won't it?' Luis' lips curl in amusement and he risks a glance at Leo. He has the same look on his face as when he takes a freekick, searching for a breach in the defence and calculating the perfect trajectory to deliver a killing blow.

'No. I won't let it.'

'Why not?'

Leo cocks his head in confusion. Luis taps his maté straw with his thumbnail.

'Why not?' Leo echoes. Luis shrugs again.

'You like him. He likes you. You have a room all to yourselves. Why not?'

'Because,' Leo says slowly, as if talking to a small child, 'I don't like him, I despise him, and he's only hot when he shuts the fuck up, which is never. I don't know what goes on in that big head of his, but I don't think he likes me either, not really. He's just looking to get a rise out of me, by any means. And I won't give him the satisfaction.'

Leo pauses, closing his fingers around Luis' hand on the maté gourd. He waits patiently until Luis raises his head to look at him. Leo strokes his hand gently, fixing him with an open, determined stare.

'I've already decided I'm not doing that again,' Leo says softly. Luis lets out a slow breath.

'Everything alright?' Valverde says, approaching their table. Leo pulls back from Luis and schools his face into a neutral expression.

'All good, Mister,' Luis replies, flashing his usual smile. Leo manages a weak nod.

'Good, good, I'm glad,' Valverde claps his hands with more enthusiasm than an under-caffeinated Leo can handle. 'I know this isn't what you're used to, this arrangement I mean, but I'm sure it will turn out to be for the best, eh?'

'Sure,' Luis replies easily. Leo considers his silence to be answer enough, but Luis pointedly nudges his knee under the table.

'Whatever you feel is necessary,' Leo bites out.

'Good, good,' Valverde says with another clap, bobbing awkwardly on the balls of his feet. 'Well! I'll see you in training, ok?'

'Sure,' Luis says again. Leo nods with more conviction this time. As Valverde wanders off, Leo's lips twist into a sneer.

'Play nice,' Luis scolds him affectionately. Leo rolls his eyes at that, then grins.

'Let's go.'

* * *

Leo was thoroughly enjoying himself. Valverde had them doing rondos to get them reaccustomed to the feel of the ball at their feet and everyone was happy to be out of the gym and on the pitch.

Leo sees Jordi's pass coming from his left, scoops the ball with his foot and flicks it to Geri on the right. Griezmann, who had ended up in the middle of the rondo, lunges towards Leo's foot but misses and falls gracelessly on his side. Leo spares him a glance, just enough to see the fury blazing in those blue eyes before the Frenchman pulls himself together and redoubles his efforts to recover the ball.

Geri, being Geri, keeps the ball in the air, away from the diminutive newbie who gets increasingly frustrated. When the assistant coach yells "Down!", the ball is passed to Leo. He brings it down smoothly and waits for Griezmann to challenge him. Leo doesn't need to look at the ball. He knows exactly where it is. His eyes are trained on Griezmann, who places his feet a little too far apart.

Leo fakes a pass to the right, then flicks the ball with the outside of his left foot between Griezmann's legs. His teammates cheer and roar with laughter. Leo glances sideways at Jordi, who shakes his head, still laughing. Griezmann tackles Jordi roughly and steals the ball from him, pushing him inside the rondo.

'Calm down, princess,' Jordi shoves him back but doesn't add any more insult to his injured pride.

'Yeah, don't get your panties in a twist,' Geri chimes in.

Griezmann says nothing, but his frown deepens and he sends a vicious ball towards Geri. The Catalan catches it awkwardly with his knee and manages a pass. The taunts die down after a couple of passes, everyone focusing on the ball, but Leo can see Griezmann fuming.

Leo - 1, Griezmann - 0.

* * *

Back in the dressing room after what turned out to be a fantastic training session, Leo cleans his boots as Luis sits down beside him.

'I've never seen you like that in practice,' Luis says, aiming for reproachful but ending up with reluctant admiration.

'Felt good today,' Leo shrugs, like it was nothing special. Like he hadn't just given everyone on that pitch a free masterclass in ball control. And a lesson in humility to one teammate in particular.

'Well I know someone who definitely did not feel good today,' Luis drawls, nodding towards the French corner. Leo continues to focus on his boots, but his lips quirk in amusement.

'Leo.' Valverde approaches their bench and both players look up. His lips are pursed as if he tasted something rather unpleasant at a dinner party but doesn't want to offend the host. Swallowing past the uninspired hors d'oeuvre-shaped lump in his throat, he sighs and looks the captain in the eye. There is no anger in his gaze, but the disappointment Leo sees there stings sharper than a reproach. 'I hoped you would do better.'

Leo says nothing. He drops his gaze towards his discarded boots and studies the patterns on the soiled rag in his hand. With a disapproving little shake of his head, Valverde turns around and leaves the two friends alone in their little bubble. Luis quickly glances around. The others are too far away to have heard anything, but some of them are looking over, curious and confused. Luis shrugs casually and turns to Leo, who hasn't resumed cleaning his boots. He reaches over to take the dirty rag from Leo's limp hand.

'Leo, it's ok,' Luis tries softly. 'You were great today- '

'I fucked up,' Leo says. His small voice was devoid of emotion, but it carried the same weight of certainty as a universally-acknowledged truth.

'No, I mean, you may have exaggerated a bit, but- '

'I used to do this a lot, you know,' Leo takes his rag back and resumes his previous task. 'In training, when I was little. I didn't do it to show off- '

'Like hell you didn't.'

'I just did it because I could. I wanted the ball. I wanted to run across the pitch with it at my feet and score. I wanted to move past everyone and shoot. I didn't mean to make the others feel bad or humiliate them. I would nutmeg them because the best available open space just happened to be between their legs. And I couldn't understand why they got so mad. Why they thought I had some personal vendetta against them. Why they called me arrogant and tried to kick me even harder.'

Luis listened quietly, taken aback by Leo's unprompted confession. He knew Leo was not as quiet as everyone says, not in private anyway, not with him, but it was still surprising to hear Leo willingly string together so many sentences.

'Cesc and Geri hated me for it,' Leo's smile turns wistful. 'Then they befriended me and explained why. They probably thought I would go easy on them if we were friends.'

'Did you?' Luis asks, already knowing the answer.

'No, but I only did it to them on purpose from that point on.'

Luis chuckles, shaking his head.

'Griezmann deserved it,' Luis concludes, patting Leo on the back. 'He can't expect to be pulling all that shit with no consequences.'

'He deserved it,' Leo agrees. 'But that doesn't make it ok.'

Luis shrugs noncommittally. 'Maybe it'll motivate him to do better. If he's a fighter like he says and not a wimp.'

'I might have pushed it too far.'

'Leo, anyone who's ever played against you has had their self-esteem crushed to bits at one point or another. Frankly, it's a wonder Marc still finds the strength to get up in the morning, knowing he'll be facing you in training. We shrug. We thank God we're on the same team as you. We move on. If he's got what it takes to play for Barcelona, he will, too.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember if I actually saw it in an interview or just imagined it, but what Leo says about his dribbling rings true. He never seems to show off fancy skills during a game unless the situation calls for them, just because he can, like some Brazilian we know and love. That doesn't mean he can't or that he doesn't do it in training, sometimes...
> 
> As always, toss a line to your writer, oh valley of kudos... <3


	6. Sizzle

Leo takes his time getting back to his room after training. The thrill that has shrouded him on the pitch like a billowing cape now feels like a wet blanket. Having no particular tactical instructions from the coaches, he'd felt free to do as he pleased, play how he wanted to play, something he rarely got the chance to do in regular training when they had to prepare formations or set up gameplays for the upcoming matches. Leo can't wipe Valverde's disappointed look from his brain and it irks him how much he _cares_.

Leo gets into the elevator alone and risks a glance at himself in the mirror. His beard probably needs trimming, his hair is getting a little long. His eyes are the same shade of disappointment as Mister's. _I hoped you would do better_.

He scored seven goals in the skirmish matches, gave four assists and didn't lose a single ball. It doesn't get any better than this. But of course that isn't what the coach meant and Leo knows it. He's linked up very well with almost everyone on the team, finding them with key passes, directing them like a conductor guiding the violins through a particularly tricky score. His usually precise and efficient football became effervescent, baroque, ostentatious and thoroughly enjoyable.

But his job wasn't to see how many sombreros he can do. His job wasn't even to score or create chances or link up with as many of his teammates as possible. The job Valverde clearly intended for him was to find ways to integrate the newest signing into their attacking group, help him fit into the squad quickly and seamlessly.

He's done the exact opposite.

His reflection looks at him accusingly, disdain clear in the twist of his chapped lips. _Who do you think you are? Stop playing God._

The elevator halts, the doors open and the corridor stretches out in front of him. Leo dreads going back to his room. He can't face Griezmann right now. He wants Luis. He wants to go home. He wants things to be the way they were before. He wants Ney and "MSN" and trophies and that feeling that together they could do anything.

Leo blinks and squares his shoulders. He takes a determined step forward. He's not going to throw himself a pity party in the elevator. What's done is done. Griezmann did deserve it. Valverde should be the one motivating the players and figuring out ways to get the best out of them, not Leo. He's here to play football and win. If the others can't keep up, it's not his problem.

Leo unlocks the door to his room and steps inside. It's empty. Surprisingly, Leo feels bereft. He'd squared himself up for a possible confrontation, and now he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. He spots Griezmann's training bag next to his bed, meaning the Frenchman had come back but left quickly. To sulk somewhere, his malicious brain adds. Feeling suddenly drained, Leo puts his bag down, strips methodically and goes to take a shower.

* * *

Leo comes out of the bathroom, hair damp, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He is met with an icy blue death glare.

'Are you done?'

'Shower's free,' Leo replies carefully and tries to step around Griezmann. The Frenchman slams his hand against the wall near Leo's head, effectively blocking his path. Leo doesn't flinch and tries to look unimpressed as he glances up at his roommate.

'Are you done fucking with me?' Griezmann bites out. Leo blinks.

'No.'

Out of the corner of his eye, Leo sees Griezmann's hand balling into a fist.

'What more do you want?!'

The wavy hairs escaping from his ponytail give Griezmann a wild look, like the halo of a wrathful god. Or a very scruffy kitten.

'I wasn't fucking with you.' Leo's tone is quiet and measured. He deliberately keeps his muscles from tensing. This is a dance he knows all too well.

'What the hell do you call that, then?' Griezmann waves his other hand in the general direction of his training bag. Leo's innocent stare is a work of art.

' _That_ was football,' he says. Griezmann grits his teeth. 'I'm not sure what _this_ is, though.'

'You don't give me a single pass since I came to Barça, you barely even look at me, and today you woke up and decided to, what? Pin a target on my back? Do your best to show me just how good you are and how useless I am? Wipe the floor with me in front of everyone?'

'You seemed desperate for my attention,' Leo drawls. Griezmann snarls and slams his other fist against the wall.

'I just wanted to play with you! Every footballer in the world wants to play with you! Is that a crime?'

'Maybe you're just not good enough,' Leo deadpans. His gaze sharpens and cuts through Griezmann like a spear. He can see the breath being knocked out of the blond by the sheer force of his words.

Placing his palm on the Frenchman's chest, Leo pushes lightly and the other man shuffles backwards, stumbling awkwardly and falling on his bed. Leo towers above him, sneering at the confused blink of his eyes, as if he can't quite figure out how the tables ended up turning on him.

'You think you can come in here, act all arrogant, and everyone will just fall at your feet? You think that saying how great you are makes it true? It doesn't. Whatever you might have won in the past means nothing here. Here, you're a nobody with a terrible first touch and absolutely no idea what he's doing.'

'Fuck you!' Griezmann spits at him. But Leo's on a roll so he puts one knee on the bed, balancing himself on his arm as he brings his mouth closer to Griezmann's ear:

'Wouldn't you like that,' he whispers. Griezmann is panting, flushed, whether with frustration or something else he couldn't say.

'I saw how you threw yourself at me like a little whore from day one. How you teased me. How you bat your pretty little eyelashes and humped Samu in front of me. Now I don't know what you've heard or what you thought was going to happen, but you have severely miscalculated, boy.'

'I'm not afraid of you,' Griezmann says, more of a breathy whimper than the fearless declaration he was aiming for.

'Aren't you?' Leo purrs. Griezmann swallows and clenches his fists in the sheets. 'You're positively shaking.'

Leo draws back, glances pointedly at Griezmann's tenting track pants, then with a derisive grin he turns away from him.

'You're just sad and bitter and jealous because you lost the Champions again and Neymar left you- '

Leo's hand connects with Griezmann's cheek with a deafening crack. Both players are stunned, too stunned to breathe. Leo's vision has turned black, there's a roar in his ears and all he can feel is the distant throbbing of his right palm. Griezmann very slowly turns his head, raising a hand to his cheek. There isn't any blood, but the pain is nothing next to the disbelief, anger and shame that sizzle inside of him. His eyes lock with Leo's, but the dark orbs are vacant, two black pools of nothingness, and that's somehow more frightening than the blaze of fury Griezmann had caught in the split-second before Leo hit him.

Leo hit him.

Leo can't move. He sees Griezmann's reddening cheek, his blue eyes watering from the sting, his mouth hanging open with the weight of the last words he spoke... and at the same time he sees none of it. He sees himself, gingerly touching his jaw, eyes red, the taste of the word _selfish_ still bitter on his tongue. He can hear his heart thumping erratically in his constricted chest.

Someone's knocking.

'Leo! Guys, is everything ok?'

It's Jordi. He knocks again, more insistently this time. Griezmann gets up and for a second Leo panics, thinking of what he might do, what Jordi will say to see him like that, what Mister will say when he finds out. But Griezmann wordlessly goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him with a decisive thud. Leo lets out a shaky breath. He's shivering.

'Leo!' Jordi knocks again.

'Coming!' Leo yells, his voice a little broken. He pulls the door open.

'Leo, what the fuck? Why were you banging on the wall?' Jordi takes in his dishevelled look, lack of clothing and shortness of breath with no small degree of apprehension.

'I'll come to lunch in a minute,' Leo says instead.

'Okay, but...'

'Save me a seat,' Leo cuts him off and shuts the door in his face. He shuffles back inside, stopping for a moment outside the bathroom door. He can't hear anything over the sound of the sink running, so he dresses mechanically, flexing his hand and wishing he could run some cold water over it. There is nothing to be done, however. All he can do is to take the elevator down to the dining hall and hope that his slumped shoulders and deep frown will be enough to deter people from striking up a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence is bad, kids. 
> 
> If you have also felt like slapping a coworker, but hopefully refrained, or if you'd like to chat about these idiots, please drop me a line in the comments. Every kudos is a little kiss on Griezmann's cheek, or Leo's hand <3


	7. Cruel

As Leo lowers himself into the empty seat at his table, Jordi glances quizzically behind him.

'Where's your roommate?'

'Sleeping,' Leo says without looking at Jordi, focusing instead on loading his plate. He can feel the concern coming off in waves from Luis next to him, but he studiously ignores his friend.

'He's not hungry?' Luis says around a mouthful of rice.

'You wore him out, Leo?' Jordi pipes with a leer. Leo gives him a sharp look.

'What?'

'You know, in training,' Jordi explains. 'I've never seen you do that to another player, apart from Ramos.'

Jordi and Busi laugh at that and Leo looks away. He can feel Luis' eyes on him, but he can't bear to see what they might be saying.

'Can you just drop it,' Leo says weakly, pushing his rice to one side of the plate and the chicken to the other.

'Hey, so Frenkie is pretty good, huh?' Jordi tries a safer topic. When Leo doesn't protest, he launches into a long-winded story that his wife had told him about Frenkie's girlfriend. Leo isn't really listening, content to have steered the conversation away from Griezmann, and focuses on chewing and swallowing without choking on his food. It's proving to be more difficult than usual.

When they're finished, Leo sees Valverde heading towards them. He quickly decides that he really can't take any more constructive criticism today, so he tells Luis that he'll see him upstairs and makes a tactical retreat towards the bathroom.

He takes his time, washes his hands for a good five minutes, then looks in the mirror. He sees his face and remembers the red imprint of Ney's knuckles, the hurt of the blow, how he'd felt it not on his jaw but in his heart, where it knocked over the delicate vessel of his love and shattered it to pieces. _Selfish_ , he'd snarled bitterly. But wasn't he the one who wanted to keep Ney all to himself at any cost, wasn't he the one who'd kept Luis close too, closer than he should...

It wasn't Griezmann's fault he was broken. The other man had pushed more than he should have, sure, but he didn't know any better, didn't know he had to tread carefully around the jagged shards of Leo's past.

Leo suddenly feels old and weary. He knows he needs to apologize to Griezmann, but he's not sure he has the strength to do it right now. Distantly he thinks the poor man didn't even eat lunch because of him. He should bring him a plate. It's the least he could do. Remorse morphs into protectiveness and Leo is taken aback by it. He's quite sure that, if he were to bring Griezmann some lunch, the man would probably throw the plate at him. And he would have every right to do so.

When he finally gets out of the bathroom, he nearly walks into Valverde. The coach had been waiting for him, the fucker.

'Leo, I just wanted to let you know that the evening training session is suspended. There's a risk of thunderstorms and I thought it would be more prudent to give everyone the rest of the day off.'

Leo waits for the catch. Valverde's features are schooled into his usual easy smile that reminds Leo of a Maths teacher he had in school. He'd hated Maths but the teacher never took offence, trying (and usually failing) to use football formations as examples for his Geometry lessons. He meant well, but Leo still couldn't calculate the distance between points A and B in a triangle, even if one was Luis Enrique and the other was Kluivert.

After a sufficient pause, when the dreaded lecture never comes, Leo nods and heads towards the elevator. Behind him, Valverde calls out:

'Tell your roommate, will you?'

Leo grits his teeth but says nothing, doesn't acknowledge the veiled reproach and goes to see Luis.

He finds him alone in his and Geri's room. Luis opens the door for him and goes to sit on his bed, leaning against the headboard. Leo doesn't wait for an invitation, he never does, he just stretches out next to Luis and they both sit in silence for a little while, watching the Japanese news.

'What happened?' Luis says.

'I don't know,' Leo answers truthfully. He really doesn't know how to process everything that has happened. That's why he came here in the first place.

'Did you sleep with him?'

Leo bolts upright, looking at Luis like he'd grown another head. For his part, Luis looks very much human, albeit a little tense. He's trying very hard to appear nonchalant, but Leo can see right through his bravado. Or he would, if he could get over the initial shock of the question.

'What the fuck? Why would you think that?'

Luis shrugs, and this time Leo notices how uncomfortable his friend appears to be.

'Jordi. He said he heard banging on the wall coming from your room so he came over. You opened the door in your towel, looking "weird"...' Here Luis pauses to do the air quotes and a pretty good impersonation of Jordi leering. 'Then, Griezmann doesn't come to lunch.'

'So he thinks we fucked.'

'Did you?'

Leo really can't believe how ridiculous his friends can be sometimes.

'No! We didn't fuck! Jesus Christ!'

Leo throws his hands in the air and starts to pace around the room. Luis watches silently as Leo makes a few laps, then sits down on Geri's bed.

'We didn't fuck,' Leo repeats in something resembling his normal tone, resting his elbows on his knees. 'We fought.'

'About what happened in training?' Luis ventures.

'Yes. He didn't take it well.'

Luis sneers. 'That's too bad.'

'He was upset. He said some things. I got angry.'

'What things?' Luis asks, mirroring Leo's pose on the edge of his bed.

'He mentioned Ney.'

'Oh, Leo...'

Leo looks up to see Luis slowly shaking his head.

'I might have hit him.'

'Leo!' Luis looks scandalised. Leo doesn't know if he's more concerned for Griezmann or for Leo's mental state. For a second, Leo finds his friend's reaction utterly hypocritical.

'Come on, like you've never had a row with anyone in training! Remember when Masche used to have to drag you away from- '

'That's different,' Luis cuts him off sharply. Leo doesn't like the way Luis is looking at him at him. Like he doesn't recognize him. He supposes that's fair; he can barely recognize himself at the moment.

'Look, Leo,' Luis says, grasping his knee. 'Getting angry in training is normal. It happens. We're all competitive. But this is something else, and it's getting out of hand.'

'You think?' Leo huffs. 'The problem is, I don't know _what_ it is. I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do!'

Luis withdraws his hand and gets up. Leo watches as he goes to the window and looks at the bustling city below.

'You can be very cruel sometimes, Leo,' Luis says quietly. Leo is frozen. He wants to get up and hug Luis and never let go. He wants to shut himself in a cupboard somewhere until the world forgets he exists. He wants to punch Ney back. He wants to cry.

'Luis...' he croaks, like a lost child. Luis' reflection looks at him sternly.

'You have to go and apologize, Leo. No matter what he said, it was wrong of you to hit him. You are going to have to talk, you realize, actually tell him how you feel. Why you reacted the way you did. Ask him to tell you why he said what he said, why he's been acting the way he's been acting. Both of you need to stop playing this ridiculous game. It's dangerous to everyone else and you'll only end up hurting each other even worse.'

'But I don't know how I feel,' Leo mutters.

'Yes, you do,' Luis snaps. He rests his head against the window and closes his eyes. 'Forget about Ney, forget about your stupid pride and you'll find out. Please don't make me spell it out for you.'

'Luis...' The pain in his friend's voice burns him like ice. He caused this. He made Luis suffer. He wants to take everything back but he doesn't know how.

'I love you,' Luis says, finally turning around to face him. 'I've known it for a long time, and it's not something I can change. But my feelings are not your responsibility. You made it clear you don't love me in the same way, and that's fine. You need to figure out what _you_ want. Not me, not Ney, not even Griezmann. But you have to let me go. I can't be a part of this. No,' Luis hurries to add at Leo's choked sob, 'I won't stop being your friend, I'll always be there for you, if that's what you want, but I can't be the one to tell you who to love...' _If you can't love me_ is left unspoken, but Leo hears it loud and clear.

'I tried,' Leo hides his face in his palms, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. 'I thought I could.'

'I know.' Luis moves to sit next to him and puts his arm around Leo's shaking shoulders. 'It's ok.'

'No, it's not,' Leo whines, burying his face in Luis' chest.

'It is what it is,' Luis sighs and continues to rub Leo's shoulder until the shaking subsides.

'I'm a nightmare,' Leo sniffs eventually. Luis hands him a tissue.

'You're not so bad,' Luis shoves him playfully. 'But you do eat raw meat. Does Griezmann know? Might be a deal-breaker.'

'Isn't tartare a French thing?' Leo chances a half-smile. Luis shakes his head and grins. They'll be ok.

'Like all pretentious, disgusting food,' Luis agrees. 'Except fries.'

There is a click at the door, then Geri comes in. He takes one look at his two teammates and rolls his eyes.

'Not you, too!'

'What?' Leo and Luis say at the same time.

'I went to see Samu about a thing, and what do I find? The whole French quartet huddled together and playing some shitty game on PlayStation, looking like the world was about to end, when in fact we had the afternoon off!'

'Sorry, Geri,' Luis says, feeling Leo tense beside him.

'Well, what happened? I heard there's a thunderstorm coming, not the fucking Apocalypse!'

'Nothing, it's fine now,' Luis replies, patting Leo on the back to get his attention. Leo nods weakly to Geri, then turns to look at Luis again.

'I should...'

'Yes, you should,' Luis says firmly.

'Can you tell...' Leo makes a vague gesture towards Geri, who is starting to look genuinely worried.

'I'll explain, don't worry. You just... be careful, ok? And be honest.'

'I'll try.'

Leo has a sudden impulse to kiss Luis, just to see, to make sure, but he knows it's not the right thing to do. So he waves goodbye to Geri and heads out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Group hug for Luis, everyone! 
> 
> Come shout at me in the comments. I definitely deserve it. And kudos patch up broken hearts, did you know? Give it a try. For Luis.


	8. Rumble

Leo has been standing outside Samu's door for a while now. He's mildly concerned that someone might come down the hallway and see him loitering like a creep, looking probably about as terrible as he feels. So he takes a deep breath for the tenth time and knocks softly. He fights the impulse to run and hide as fast as he can. He thinks he might have knocked too quietly, maybe they didn't hear him over the sound of the PlayStation, maybe he can still go back and forget about it...

But then he hears a rustle inside and the door cracks open to reveal an uncharacteristically serious Samu.

'Hi,' Leo manages weakly.

'What do you want?' Samu grunts. Leo can't see anything beyond his imposing frame and everything inside seems to have gone quiet.

'I'd like to talk to Griezmann,' Leo says in a pale version of his captain voice.

'He's not here.'

Leo frowns.

'But Geri said...'

'He doesn't want to see you,' Samu amends. When Leo opens his mouth again, Samu takes a step forward.

'Look here,' he says in surprisingly good Spanish; the easygoing teammate is gone, replaced by the fierce World Cup-winning defender. 'I don't give a fuck if you're captain, I don't care that you're Lionel fucking Messi. You don't get to do what you did. You don't get to come here and demand to see him. For some stupid reason, he doesn't want to go to Mister about this, but he sure as hell isn't talking to you. So fuck off and stay the hell away from him!'

With that Samu goes back inside, slamming the door behind him. Leo swallows past his initial anger ( _How dare that overpriced, overrated benchwarmer talk like that to his captain?_ ) but he realizes he is in no position to make any kind of demand anymore. So he slowly makes his way back to his room, changes into his plain sleeping shirt and shorts, and goes to the window to watch the dark clouds gathering over the city.

It's much later that he hears the soft click of the door and he turns around to see Griezmann coming into the room. Leo's eyes snap to his cheek. Sure enough, there's a red mark on the Frenchman's face, the faint outline of his fingers imprinted on that pale skin. Leo looks away. He can't bear to see the evidence of his outburst now.

Griezmann doesn't say anything. He takes a few careful steps inside and sits down on the edge of Leo's bed, closest to the exit. Leo could scream. Griezmann seems to be waiting for him, flexing his fingers on his knees. He doesn't look at Leo, choosing to stare outside the window at the oncoming storm. With his face turned at this angle, the light falls perfectly on his marred cheekbone, his glistening blue eyes.

'I'm sorry,' Leo says, so quietly that he can barely hear himself. Griezmann doesn't react and for a second Leo thinks it's entirely possible he hasn't heard him at all.

'I'm sorry,' he says again, slightly louder than a whisper. Still, Griezmann remains unmoving, staring out the window and saying absolutely nothing.

Leo closes his eyes and sees Luis looking at him like a complete stranger. He opens his eyes and tries again.

'I'm sorry I hit you.'

'You said that,' Griezmann croaks. His voice is raspy, like sandpaper on a skipping record. Leo is momentarily stunned. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say next. He apologized, didn't he? Then, he remembers Luis' advice. Talk. He's going to have to talk.

'You shouldn't have said what you said,' Leo begins, then winces. Great. Now he's blaming Griezmann. For his part, the Frenchman doesn't react in any way, so Leo swallows and tries to explain. 'What you said about Ney... It's complicated. You don't know what happened. I snapped.'

'Why do you hate me so much?'

Griezmann sounds so small and broken, it makes Leo wince.

'I don't- '

'You do,' Griezmann interrupts him and turns his head to look at him. 'I know you do. You've shown it time and again, from the first day I came to Barcelona.'

Leo thinks back on the last few weeks. He's never been openly hostile, not until today anyway, but he's done his best to avoid Griezmann as much as possible, to limit their interaction and to pretend he doesn't exist. To someone like Griezmann, he supposes it's worse than open hostility. In fact, he knows it. He's been doing it on purpose.

'I know you wanted Neymar back,' Griezmann says tentatively and Leo flinches. Griezmann must be incredibly brave or incredibly suicidal to mention his name again, after Leo just told him it was a sensitive subject and he currently had the marks to prove it.

'Why do you need me to like you so much?' Leo asks instead.

'Who doesn't?' the Frenchman hedges. 'You're the best footballer ever. You're Leo Messi.'

'I'm a trophy,' Leo says with familiar bitterness.

Griezmann sighs, moving his gaze back towards the window.

'I just wanted to have what _he_ had. Someone told me once that when you focus on a person, it's like suddenly they're the most important human being in the world. That it's intoxicating and addictive. I wanted to know what that's like.'

'It's dangerous,' Leo says darkly. 'People get burned.' He thinks of Luis again and grits his jaw.

'I was never the most important person for someone,' Griezmann goes on. 'Not for my parents, not for my coaches... I always had to fight harder than everyone else to prove I wasn't too small, too fragile to do this, to get here. I guess I saw myself in you, a little.'

'You're nothing like me,' Leo says without malice. For him it's simply a fact. He sees Griezmann get up, walking slowly towards the window. He comes to stand next to Leo and they both turn to face the glass. Their silhouettes are flecked with the first drops of rain.

'I know,' Griezmann says, watching their reflection. 'So I tried to be like _him_. I thought, if I could be more like him, maybe you'd like me more.'

'You're nothing like him, either,' Leo says, sharper this time. Griezmann huffs.

'I know. But what could a shy, nerdy French boy have to offer you?'

'Honesty.'

Griezmann turns to look at Leo, eyes wide. Leo doesn't avert his gaze from the rumbling clouds. He thinks he can smell the ozone in the air, mixed with the Frenchman's sweet, slightly oriental scent. Suddenly, there's a flash of lightning. Griezmann gasps and Leo closes his eyes, counting the seconds. One, two, three... The clap of thunder makes him shudder and he opens his eyes to see Griezmann eyeing him warily.

'I don't like storms,' Griezmann says quietly.

They sit in silence for a little while, listening to the patter of rain against the window. Then, Leo turns towards Griezmann. The red mark on his cheek is more visible here and Leo is hit by another wave of guilt.

'I'm sorry,' he says again.

'It's ok,' Griezmann replies easily. 'I probably deserved it.'

'No,' Leo barks sharply. 'I shouldn't have lost my temper like that.'

'I shouldn't have talked about things I didn't understand,' Griezmann retorts.

'I shouldn't have targeted you like that in practice.'

'I shouldn't have pushed you like I did.'

Leo smiles his first real smile for Griezmann, and the corners of the Frenchman's lips quirk upwards.

'Tell me something that's true,' Griezmann says.

'It's raining.'

Griezmann snorts. 'Not like that! Something about you.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know,' Griezmann shrugs. 'What scares you?'

'Not thunderstorms.' Leo smiles again and Griezmann rolls his eyes. He jumps a little as another thunder cracks like a whip, somewhat ruining the effect.

'I'm scared of letting people down,' Leo admits after a while.

'You haven't let anybody down,' Griezmann says with surprising force. 'You can't. You're the best.'

'I didn't score at Anfield,' Leo spits out the name like a bitter pill he hasn't yet managed to swallow.

'Barcelona wouldn't have got to Anfield in the first place if it weren't for you,' Griezmann insists. 'And this year, we'll do better.'

'I thought you were being honest,' Leo snorts derisively.

'I am.'

'You can't promise we'll win the Champions League.'

'I didn't say that. I said I believe we will do better.'

Leo looks away again, letting Griezmann's confidence ring out in his ears, hoping it might permeate his brain.

'Tell me something else,' Griezmann says.

'Aren't you a little demanding?' Leo arches a brow and the Frenchman grins.

'I'll go first, if you want.'

'Alright.'

Griezmann ponders for a while. Leo thinks he's never had this kind of conversation with anyone. Is this what other people do? Talk about their feelings? Just expose themselves like that? He thought it would be utterly mortifying, and it absolutely is, but it's also surprisingly liberating.

'I don't just like your football.'

Leo swallows thickly. He feels the blush rising to his cheeks and wills it to stop, to no avail. Griezmann is looking at him again. Leo can sense the heat behind that coy gaze. Still, he replies in that clueless lilt of his:

'You like my interviews?'

Griezmann laughs. It's a little wheezy, a little loud and completely charming. Leo grins.

'Yes, I like your interviews,' Griezmann says when he can speak again. 'I love to listen to you talk. It's so rare, you know.'

'We're talking right now,' Leo points out.

'Yes, we are,' Griezmann says. For a moment, he sounds as incredulous as Leo feels. 'Tell me something.'

'What do you want me to say?'

'Tell me something you like about me.'

Leo smirks. 'Are you fishing for compliments?'

'I think I've earned the right to hear at least one fucking compliment from you, don't you think?' Griezmann says with no real bite. Still, Leo feels the sting of shame prickling his eyes.

'I like your hair.'

Griezmann laughs again.

'You like my hair? That's it? Of all the nice things you could possibly say about me, you choose that one? Unbelievable!'

'It's... nice,' Leo adds unhelpfully. Griezmann roars and throws himself on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

'My hair is nice. Right. Ok.'

'Well, what did you want me to say?' Leo says, flustered.

'Oh, I don't know... Something about my first touch?' Griezmann replies sarcastically.

'Your first touch really isn't that great,' Leo says quietly. Griezmann scoffs. 'Honesty, remember?'

'My first touch is fine. I'm just not used to your passes, alright?'

'Fine. No need to get defensive.'

'I'm not getting defensive,' Griezmann says a little too quickly.

'I like how much you help in defence,' Leo says, feeling inspired.

'That's better,' Griezmann approves. 'Cholo drilled it into all of us at Atleti, I think.'

'Cholo's tactics are disgusting,' Leo sneers.

'They work, though,' Griezmann retorts.

'I hope he doesn't get sacked and come to coach Argentina.'

'Can you even imagine? I'd pay to see him coaching you.'

'I might just retire from the Selecctión for good if that happens,' Leo shudders. Then he sits down on the bed and carefully stretches on his back next to the other man.

'Never retire, Leo,' Griezmann grins. Leo's laughter rumbles in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luis gives the best advice, hands up if you agree!
> 
> Let me know if you, too, are scared of thunderstorms, verbalizing your feelings or seeing Leo coached by Diego Simeone. 
> 
> Kudos to charge, comment to cast a protective spell for those dumb boys (who apparently do have maté together sometimes, according to Leo's La Sexta interview) <3


	9. Talk

_Never retire_. Lying next to Griezmann on his bed, Leo can picture them just like this, on the damp grass of the pitch, celebrating a goal. _Okay_ , he thinks.

'Can I ask you something?' Leo says after a while. Griezmann nods, so Leo addresses the ceiling. 'Why did you flirt with me?'

It's Griezmann's turn to flush and look away. Leo waits patiently for the other man to compose himself.

'What do you mean?' he says eventually, to buy time.

'Did you think that's how Ney acted to get my attention?'

Griezmann doesn't answer. After a while, Leo thinks he might have broken their tentative balance and gone too far again. In the end, the Frenchman does reply.

'Yes and no.'

Leo blinks at him.

'I already told you I tried to be more like him,' Griezmann says, frustration creeping into his voice. 'It was fun!'

'So you were making fun of me.' Leo closes his eyes, something ugly twisting inside of him. 'How unoriginal.'

'Jesus Christ, how can you be so thick!' Griezmann runs a hand over his face in exasperation, then tries again, more composed. 'No, I wasn't making fun of you! It was fun, meaning I liked it! I liked flirting with you.'

'To get me worked up.'

'To get in your pants, you idiot!'

Leo's eyes open to see Griezmann's buried his face in his hands. The muffled snarl behind those tattooed knuckles makes Leo feel hopeless again. _Honesty_ , he reminds himself. _Talk._

'I'm not always good at... that,' Leo says softly. Griezmann turns towards him with a frown. 'Trusting other people, understanding what they really mean when they say or do something.'

'I would think it's pretty fucking obvious what I really mean when I dance with you and sing fucking Shakira and sleep naked three feet away from you.'

'I thought you were doing that to annoy me.' Leo looks away. He feels his cheeks heat up, partly in shame, partly because he can still remember the lines of Griezmann's body shining golden against the white hotel sheets.

'Maybe that was part of it,' Griezmann grudgingly admits. 'But you weren't just annoyed, were you?'

Leo swallows, still not looking at Griezmann.

'So... basically, you were pulling my pigtails.'

Griezmann laughs again. Leo could get used to that sound.

'I guess.'

'Because you wanted to get in my pants.'

'Yes,' Griezmann says, a little breathless.

'And not as a sick joke.'

'No,' Griezmann says firmly.

Leo finally turns to face Griezmann. The room flashes with a bolt of lightning, but Griezmann is too caught up in their conversation to react. Leo catches its reflection in those blue eyes and thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

He inches forward, giving Griezmann all the time in the world to pull away, to run, to decide that, in fact, it had been just a joke. But Griezmann doesn't. His eyelashes flutter and he angles his head a little to the side. He waits. This is Leo's move.

So he moves. He presses his lips to the Frenchman's softly. Then he does it again. When he pulls back a little, the other man sways forward, seeking his touch. Leo obliges, cradling his unmarred cheek in his hand, threading his fingers through his hair. It's impossibly soft and the sweet, musky scent of him goes straight to Leo's cock. He brings their mouths together again, more determined, snaking his tongue out to taste him.

Griezmann moans and opens up for him, raising a tentative hand to Leo's chest, then fisting it in his shirt. He lets himself be kissed, lets Leo map his mouth at his own pace, answering the flicks of his tongue with his own. Then he grows bold, pushing back, arching to press himself closer to Leo and sucking his lip into his mouth.

Leo shudders, gasping for breath. Griezmann pulls back, but sneaks his hand under Leo's shirt, across his ribs, flicking his thumb against a small, pebbled nipple. Leo grunts and lunges to kiss him again, trying to take Griezmann's shirt off at the same time. It bunches up and Leo gets frustrated as Griezmann's side shakes with laughter.

'Wait,' he says, sitting up to pull the shirt over his head. Leo's hand goes to his messed-up ponytail and he pulls on the hairband, careful not to hurt Griezmann.

'Beautiful,' Leo rasps, letting the honeyed strands trickle between his fingers. Griezmann closes his eyes, tilts his head back and Leo takes it as an invitation to press his mouth to the column of his neck.

'Oh, god...' Griezmann moans again as he feels first the slightly chapped lips, then the sharp teeth and then a wet tongue tracing patterns on his sensitive skin. Leo rubs his scalp, tilting his head to reach that spot behind his ear, beard scratching just roughly enough not to tickle. Leo's other hand moves down Griezmann's chest and up his back, fingers pushing into taught muscles, bitten nails dragging over his pecs.

'Please...' Griezmann gasps, feeling that hand inch lower.

Leo pulls on the waistband of his track pants and Griezmann lifts his hips, helping to remove his underwear at the same time, toeing off his shoes and shuffling higher on the bed. Still fully clothed, Leo leans over him and presses his palm flat over Griezmann's stomach, moving lower to caress his jutting hipbone, tracing his thumb down the inside of his thigh. Griezmann whimpers and spreads his legs, his cock already hard and waiting.

'Please,' he begs again, grasping at Leo's shoulder.

'Please, what?' Leo says, tongue stopping just above his nipple.

Griezmann's eyes lock with his, pupils blown wide, like two whirlpools in a stormy sea. His voice cracks.

'Tell me.'

Leo grins and moves to kneel between Griezmann's spread legs, pushing his knees under the other's thighs. He leans back down to kiss Griezmann, tweaking his nipples lightly.

'I like your hair,' Leo drawls and licks Griezmann's smile off his lips. 'I like your mouth,' he adds for good measure with a quick nip to his Cupid's bow. 'I like your eyes.' He stops to kiss each eyelid, the crinkled corners and the jut of each eyebrow. 'I like your skin.' He traces his tongue slowly from Griezmann's chin to his navel, dipping in and swirling around. Griezmann lifts his hips, flushed cock straining. Leo ignores it and licks around it, down the deep vee of his lower abdomen, pausing to suck a bite into his inner thigh. Griezmann whines.

'I like how you run,' Leo continues unhurriedly, bestowing the same attention to the other thigh. 'I like how you go deep to recover the ball.' Leo snakes his tongue behind one knee, then the other, making Griezmann tremble. 'I like how you score.' Leo raises his left ankle and presses an almost reverent kiss to the delicate bone.

'I like how you sit still and don't make a sound.' Leo arches a brow and Griezmann nods eagerly. Leo's hands move back up Griezmann's thighs and this time Leo cups his cock, eliciting a muffled cry. Looking up, he sees Griezmann covering his mouth with the back of his wrist.

'Good boy.'

Griezmann moans low as Leo grasps his cock and gives it a firm stroke. He spreads the precome gathering at the tip and twists his hand. Griezmann's knees lock on Leo's sides. He takes his hand away and holds it out to Griezmann.

'Spit.'

Griezmann takes his wrist away to spit in Leo's palm. When the slick hand touches his cock again, Griezmann gasps loudly.

'Tsk, none of that,' Leo chides, tightening his grip on Griezmann's cock. The Frenchman whimpers and Leo raises his other hand to trace his reddened lips, sliding two fingers in, against his tongue.

'That's better.' Leo resumes his steady strokes as Griezmann sucks on his fingers, sinking his teeth into Leo's flesh whenever his touch sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine.

'So good for me,' Leo murmurs, picking up the pace. 'You like this? Is this what you wanted? My full attention? How does it feel? Tell me.'

Leo removes his fingers from Griezmann's mouth and he gasps for air. His eyes are glazed and unfocused, so Leo stops his strokes, pushing his thumb against the weeping slit, and repeats:

'Tell me.'

'Oh my god, Leo...' Griezmann whines and Leo slowly resumes his strokes, fondling Griezmann's balls with his free hand. 'So good, you feel so good, I can't...'

'Do you want to come?' Leo asks and Griezmann shudders.

'Yes, please, oh please, make me come, Leo, _s't plaît_...'

'Shh,' Leo wets his left thumb on Griezmann's precome and moves it lower, pressing behind his balls. Griezmann keens and spreads his legs wider, pushing himself against the wandering touch. Leo keeps his strokes tight and fast and moves his thumb lower, catching Griezmann's rim. The Frenchman shudders.

'Like this?'

' _Oui, comme ça, c'est bon..._ I'm so close, Leo, please...'

'You can come now. Come for me, Antoine.'

Griezmann does shout this time, back arching off the mattress as thick ropes of come paint his chest white. Leo strokes him through it, milking every last drop until he's spent, until it's too much.

'Beautiful,' Leo says, breathless, admiring his artwork before wiping his hand on the sheet. Griezmann can only lie there, panting, watching Leo's dark and hungry gaze.

His eyes cast around for some tissues, the cooling come on his chest making him uncomfortable. Leo leans over to grab the box on the nightstand and hands the tissues to Griezmann, who finds himself eye-level with Leo's groin. Wordlessly, he grasps Leo's hip and pulls him down to sit on the bed, back against the headboard. He wipes down as best as he can, then he turns around and crawls to Leo, who is watching him wordlessly.

Griezmann presses languid kisses to Leo's lips, feeling his taught muscles through his shirt, grasping the hard bulge in his pants. Leo groans and clenches his fingers in Griezmann's hip almost painfully.

'Off,' Griezmann says and Leo obeys without protest, stripping efficiently and resuming his position. Griezmann straddles his thighs and continues his exploration, tracing the shell of Leo's ear to hear him moan. He longs to bite his neck but doesn't dare to leave marks on the pale skin. Instead, he traces his jugular with his tongue, closing his hand around the base of his neck and pushing slightly into his Adam's apple. Leo gasps and Griezmann chuckles.

'Please,' Leo whispers, grasping his wrist and pushing his hand away, lower, towards his groin.

'Tell me,' Griezmann says, stretching out on his stomach between Leo's legs and propping himself up on his elbows.

'Touch me,' Leo whispers and Griezmann makes a loose fist around his cock. 'Harder.' Griezmann closes his hand tighter around him and pushes the foreskin to expose the shiny blunt head. He blows on it and Leo shakes. Leo's hand finds its way into Griezmann's hair, pushing it to the side, gripping the base of his skull. Griezmann looks up to see Leo's pleading eyes trained on his mouth.

'Suck me.'

Griezmann smiles and licks his lips, throwing an arm across Leo's hips to hold him in place. He grips the base of Leo's cock with his other hand and slowly slips the head into his mouth.

Leo whines low in his throat, fingers flexing in his hair as Griezmann flicks his tongue experimentally over the slit. He bobs his head a little, trying to accommodate Leo's girth and to find a rhythm with his hand. Leo's deep breaths hitch occasionally, his fingers twitching in Griezmann's golden mane. One particular lick to the underside of his cock makes Leo pull sharply on his hair and Griezmann yelps, teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

'Sorry,' Leo grunts at Griezmann's frown. 'Sorry,' he repeats, pushing the wavy strands away from his forehead. Griezmann lowers his head again, taking Leo in his mouth. 'Sorry,' Leo whispers, stroking Griezmann's red cheek where it bulges around his cock. Griezmann shakes his head and Leo's hand falls to his shoulder. Griezmann's hand cups his balls, giving a questioning hum. Leo moans.

'Yes, please, don't stop,' he says and Griezmann resumes his efforts. 'You're so good for me.'

Griezmann's moan ripples through Leo and his fingers thread through the blond hair again, careful not to pull too hard.

'Your mouth feels incredible stretched around me. Can you take it? Can you take it, Antoine?'

Griezmann keens and closes his eyes, putting both hands on Leo's hips for balance and focusing on his breathing.

'That's it, good boy,' Leo gasps as Griezmann's lips tighten around the base of his cock. 'So fucking good, God, you're gonna make me come.'

Griezmann tries to swallow around him and chokes a little, but then he tries again, feeling Leo's thighs tremble with the effort of not pushing all the way into the slick heat of his throat. He gets the hang of it and cups Leo's balls again, feeling them tighten in anticipation.

'Yes, oh yes, I'm gonna come, fucking perfect, Antoine... Please...'

Griezmann pulls off a little and sucks hard on the head, pumping the shaft quickly. With another strangled cry, Leo lets go, shooting load after load into Griezmann's waiting mouth.

Leo's hand falls away from his hair. Griezmann pulls away and spits into a tissue, then takes another to wipe Leo clean. Leo grunts and stretches out, resting his head on the pillow and waving Griezmann over. The Frenchman settles down on his back with his head on Leo's bicep and Leo's fingers automatically start combing through his damp hair.

They sit like that for a while, until their breaths even out. The storm rages on, but Griezmann doesn't flinch. Leo is ridiculously happy that the other man feels safe enough in his arms, trusts Leo to shelter him from the world.

'Now what?' Griezmann's voice is hoarse and it makes Leo's toes curl.

'Now, we shower,' Leo says, making no move to get up.

Griezmann rolls his eyes and turns his head towards Leo. Leo smiles and drops a kiss to the tip of his nose.

'Now we shower together and after that we go to dinner.'

'How romantic,' Griezmann drawls.

'I'll have them light a candle for your table, if you want,' Leo smirks.

' _My_ table?' the Frenchman arches an elegant brow. 'Not _our_ table?'

Leo swallows. 'No.' He looks earnestly into Griezmann's eyes, willing him to understand.

'You can't,' Griezmann says simply.

'Not yet.'

'Because of Luis?'

Leo lets out a heavy sigh.

'I'm not blind, you know.' Griezmann's tone is light. He reaches up over his shoulder to link his fingers with Leo's and watches their reflection on the window, silhouetted against the pouring rain. 'I hope you can tell me about that one day, but I won't ask you to. I _will_ ask that you tell me what I need to know, so that I don't hurt you. Or him. Or myself.'

Leo's mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find the right words. _Honesty._

'We love each other, but I'm not sure what that means for you yet,' Leo says in a small voice. Griezmann is silent but eventually he nods and the knot in Leo's chest loosens a little. Then, after a pause: 'Do I need to know anything about Samu?'

'Other than him not going easy on your tackles for the foreseeable future...' Griezmann grins and kisses Leo's knuckles. 'And Clém. And Ousmane, for that matter.'

'Avoid the French. Noted.'

'Do I need to worry about your gang, then?'

'I don't think so,' Leo says with a small chuckle. 'But Jordi thinks we're fucking so the gossip has probably spread to the rest of the squad by now.'

'Perceptive, isn't he,' Griezmann tilts his head towards their shared wall.

'Prophetic,' Leo grins and steals another slow kiss. 'For now, though, I think it's best if we...'

'Carry on as before?' Griezmann supplies. Leo shakes his head.

'No. No more arguing. No more teasing.'

'No more humiliating me on the pitch?' Griezmann smiles tentatively.

'Oh, grow up,' Leo retorts, shoving his head playfully.

'Maybe a little teasing, then,' Griezmann turns on his side, looking back at Leo over his shoulder. Leo's fingers trace the curve of his ass and he presses a kiss between his shoulder blades.

'Just a little,' Leo amends. 'For fun.'

Griezmann laughs and Leo buries his nose in the nape of his neck, inhaling his scent and making goosebumps raise on Griezmann's skin.

'But from now on, we work together, alright?' the Frenchman says more seriously. Leo pulls him against his chest and links their fingers over Griezmann's heart, over the ghost of the Barcelona crest.

'Together.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we made it! Cheesy, I know, I couldn't help myself.  
> It's been a wild ride, folks. Writing this fic has made me like Griezmann more, and I hope I did everyone justice.  
> Please leave me a comment if you got to the end and thank you for all the love and support! <3


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